


We Stood Face to Face, Bartering Gaze for Gaze

by la_faerie



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: Alternate Universe, Established Relationship, Fake Marriage, M/M, emotional cheating
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-09-25
Updated: 2013-09-25
Packaged: 2017-12-27 13:42:02
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 38,046
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/979599
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/la_faerie/pseuds/la_faerie
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i> “I’ve been trying to get to Dublin for over twenty-four hours now,” Liam observes, just to say something. “It’s not that I want to visit Dublin, necessarily, but I need to get there.” Liam pauses, and then decides to go for the truth. “My boyfriend is there for work at the moment, and I’m planning to propose to him. I want to propose to him on Leap Day because I’ve heard it’s an Irish tradition. So, it’s quite urgent, you see.”</i>
</p>
<p>  <i>Louis gapes at him with a look on his face as though Liam’s suddenly grown an extra head. “That must be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he declares.</i></p>
<p>This is an AU based on the movie Leap Year.</p>
            </blockquote>





	We Stood Face to Face, Bartering Gaze for Gaze

**Author's Note:**

> This entire fic is a bizarre mash-up of One Direction, Leap Year, and Yeats poetry. I don't own any of these things. As the word "fic" implies, this is all incredibly made up. I've listed the Yeats poetry mentioned at the end of the work if anyone is interested.
> 
> To [Any](http://archiveofourown.org/users/cmdf/profile), thank you for being my Yeats scholar.
> 
> To [Lindsay](http://archiveofourown.org/users/icecreamsocialist/profile), thank you for being my partner-in-crime for so long, and for knowing how to spell whiskey.
> 
> This fic is for Lisa.

It’s something about the early afternoon winter sunset. The dimming light slants through the row of buildings on Fifth Avenue and hits off of one of the windows in just the right way. _Tiffany & Co._ Liam stops in his tracks to look at the scene playing out in the window display: an engagement ring box in the stages of being opened. First there’s the Tiffany blue box wrapped with a perfectly tied white bow, the very picture of expectation. Then the bow is undone, the box is open, and, finally, the engagement ring sparkles out to passersby, serene and confident that it will be accepted.

Liam has been thinking about this in the back of his mind for some time now, and seeing the different stages laid out in this way solidifies the idea for him. He grabs for his friend Zayn’s arm and pulls him into the flagship Tiffany’s store.

“What do you think?” Zayn asks, a smirk on his face, as he looks around at the hundreds of rings glinting out of their display cases. “Is Harry a princess cut diamond type of person?”

“Yeah, I reckon he is,” Liam answers. “For all his bohemian airs, he prefers being classic and traditional when you get down to it.”

Zayn shoots him a look. “Has he said anything to you? Have you two actually talked about this? I thought we were in here for a laugh…” he trails off, beginning to look slightly panicked about the situation.

“No,” Liam assures. “We haven’t seriously spoken about marriage. It’s been on my mind lately though.” Liam runs a hand along the edge of a display case as though trying to absorb some of the shining light from within. “It’s just that we’ve been dating for five years now, and I’m nearly thirty. It’s probably time to do something.”

Zayn looks even more panicked. He swallows and tries to compose his face. “Look, Liam, mate,” he begins in his most gentle tone of voice, and that’s how Liam knows he’s in for a lecture. “If you seriously want me to help you pick out a ring and keep it all a secret from Harry, I’ll absolutely do it. No questions asked. But you might want to think of something more romantic to say to him than _it’s probably time to do something_. Isn’t there more to it?”

“Of course there’s more!” Liam waves one of his hands around. “I love him. I love Harry. I’m just trying to be practical as well, and plan this thing out.”

“Oh, of course we’ve got to be as practical as possible.”

“It’s true!” Liam hisses. “I’ve done a shit job of planning though. It was just Valentine’s Day. It would be tacky to propose right after Valentine’s Day has passed, wouldn’t it?”

“More like it’d be tacky to propose on Valentine’s Day. You’re much better off this way.”

“Nah,” Liam shakes his head and looks forlornly at a cluster of diamond rings. “Harry’s leaving for Ireland tomorrow, anyway. He’s doing some promo for Nick over there, you remember. Now isn’t the right time.”

“Ireland?” Zayn asks, tilting his head and running a hand over his face. “I actually have no idea what it is that Nick does.”

“No one knows what Nick really does. He throws a lot of parties and somehow doesn’t go broke. But Harry does always manage to convince people to turn out for his events.”

“Yes.” Zayn smirks. “Harry’s very persuasive.”

Zayn continues running his hand along his jaw in a thoughtful sort of way. Liam leans against the display case and lets him work up to whatever it is he wants to say.

“You said that Harry likes tradition,” Zayn begins. “Well, Ireland has this custom, and I don’t know how exactly this would work out between the two of you, but the custom is this: that a woman can propose to the man she wants to marry on Leap Day. And this is a Leap Year…”

“Are you saying that I’m a woman?”

“You twat, I’m saying that you’re looking for a good plan, and Harry always goes for a bit of classic romancing. This could work for you.”

“So what am I meant to do, exactly?” Liam cries, feeling anxious for reasons he can’t quite fathom. “Fly to Dublin on Leap Day just to propose to him?”

“If you hate the idea, you can just say so. No need to shout about it to the entire store.”

Liam bites his lip. “I don’t hate the idea.” He has to admit that it’s actually pretty romantic, but he isn’t going to say that to Zayn just yet. “But I’m suspicious, how do you know so much about Irish marriage traditions?”

“Please, you know how much time I spent in Dublin when the Yeats exhibit was on at the National Library. And Irish people will talk to you about anything: marriage traditions, how Guinness is made, sheep, crop circles. Literally anything.”

“Oh, of course. Our man, William Butler. But please don’t go off on one of your poetry recitals now,” Liam begs. “I can’t take it.”

“Tread softly!” Zayn cries, clutching his heart. “Because you tread on my dreams.”

“Oh, fuck off!” Liam swats at Zayn’s shoulder. The sales clerks are definitely glaring at them now, mainly for causing a scene and not having the courtesy to purchase something to make up for it. “We all know, you’re a scholar and,” Liam pauses as he spots something shining out of the corner of his eye, “a gentleman,” he finishes quietly.

He grabs Zayn’s elbow and hauls him over to another display case. The rings over here are much more simple—silver, gold, and even rose gold—and are probably intended to be wedding bands.

Zayn lets out a little gasp and locks eyes with Liam. “Classic,” he says. Liam’s stomach flips, as he knows that Zayn agrees that these are the real contenders.

“What do we think, silver or gold?” Liam asks. “Most of the rings Harry wears are silver,” he muses. Because, yes, Harry is the type of guy to wear jewelry.

“Depends, do you want this ring to blend in or stand out?”

Liam gives a nod, more to himself than anyone else. “Right. Alright.”

Just then a buzzing in his coat pocket takes Liam’s attention away from the rings. It’s a text from Harry himself.

_No time to go home before dinner tonight. I’ll just meet you @ restaurant. Can’t wait. Beware! Maybe some surprises tonight? ;) xxx_

Liam rolls his eyes and shows the text to Zayn. “It’s like he knows we’re talking about him.”

“Er, Liam,” Zayn looks genuinely worried now. “Are you quite sure you two haven’t spoken seriously about an engagement? Because maybe he’s planning—”

“You think he’s planning to propose?” Liam squeaks. “Tonight?”

“I don’t know! Possibly. A surprise from him could be anything. It could be a ring.”

“It could be a cock ring.” Liam checks around the store to make sure no one’s overheard him. “No, no,” he shakes his head. “He wouldn’t propose tonight, not before leaving for Ireland for two weeks.”

“Alright, if you’re confident." Zayn puts a comforting hand on his back. “Just maybe don’t buy the ring right this second. You know, in case he’s already got you one.”

Zayn begins steering him toward the door, and Liam lets him. He lets out a helpless laugh. “This is mad!” he exclaims. “How am I supposed to sit through dinner with him now, wondering if he’s going to pop the question?”

“Order lots of good wine,” Zayn instructs as he bundles Liam out the door and back into the cold February air. “That is, unless he orders champagne first.” Zayn gives a smirk and Liam shoves him.

“I might need to escape to the toilets to text you,” Liam says.

“You have to swear to tell me everything, ring or no ring.”

Liam sucks in a breath of biting cold air as he considers the possibility of being proposed to by Harry. The air stings all the way down into his lungs.

“I swear to tell you everything. And, hey,” he bumps Zayn’s hip with his own. “Thanks.” Zayn gives him a smile and a hip bump of his own in return.

The two of them say goodbye for now, and Liam wanders around alone in the swarm of people on Fifth Avenue. He and Harry have reservations at the restaurant at The Pierre in a bit, and he doesn’t want to stray too far. _Harry_ , Liam thinks. He had never texted Harry back. Liam pulls out his mobile and types a message.

_I’m almosttt at the restaurant. can’t wait 2 see what u have up ur sleeve. cheeky cheeky_

Then he decides to be a little cheeky himself.

_should i order some champagne to startttt ???_

Liam’s stomach flutters and drops at the reply:

_YES to champagne_

Liam pockets his mobile and walks with a newly formed determination to the Pierre.

+

Harry breezes into the restaurant just as the server is pouring out two glasses of champagne. Liam stands up to greet him and they kiss twice on each cheek. Liam thinks it’s a bit much sometimes, but Harry always maintains that it’s the way French people intimately greet each other.

“Cheers!” Harry says, raising his glass. “You’re looking awfully nice tonight, Mr. Payne.”

Liam feels himself blushing because, after all this time, he does want to impress Harry. “Not bad yourself, Styles.”

It’s true, Harry does look nice tonight. He’s impeccable in an easy sort of way, with his hair swept off his forehead in waves, a white button-down shirt (open at the neck), a black suit jacket, and a red pocket square for a little panache. Liam smiles at him, and Harry smiles back. Liam can see out of the corner of his eye that everyone in the restaurant is looking at them, and he thinks that they’re right to look. Liam and Harry are the most impressive couple here. Of course they should get married, Liam thinks.

“I’m so glad we’ve come out to dinner,” Harry says after they place their orders. “It’s so cozy here. New York in February is brutal, don’t you think?”

“I don’t know,” Liam hedges. “February is a short month, it’s not that bad.”

“You’re too nice. It’s dead dreary is what it is.”

Liam notices that Harry has a gleam in his eye that’s anything but dreary. “Out with it,” he demands. “What scheme have you cooked up this time?”

“California!” Harry declares, as though this one word explains all. “Think about it, we love LA.”

“I like LA,” Liam equivocates.

“You know my PR firm has a branch office in LA,” Harry continues on. “And you’re in music, Liam. I mean, it’s a wonder you don’t work in LA already! It would be so perfect. I had my mate, Ben, look up some properties, and he’s already found the most fantastic place.”

“So you’ve been thinking about this for a little while, then?” Liam is trying to wrap his head around this idea.

“It’s been brewing for a bit, yes. I told you some surprises would be revealed tonight,” Harry says, waggling his eyebrows. Liam must not look convinced because he leans across the table and reaches for Liam’s hand. “Hey, of course we’ll still keep our apartment here in the city. Rent control, can’t give that up. But just imagine it, spending our Februaries escaping to LA!”

Liam tries to imagine it, he really does, but he’s afraid his imagination isn’t that expansive. There are some things that are difficult to envision. Maybe that’s why he prefers to have set plans to work from.

“Yeah, that sounds like something, Harry,” he says with a small smile.

The salad course arrives and they both dig in, perhaps a little more gratefully than usual.

The champagne bubbles and disappears without any hint of proposals, and a subsequent glass of Pinot Noir lulls Liam into a sense of security. That’s when Harry smiles, all wide and Cheshire Cat-like. “So, I’m leaving tomorrow for a couple of weeks, and I feel guilty.”

“Why do you feel guilty? It’s for work.”

“It will be the longest we’ve been apart since we first moved in together.”

“Is it really?” Liam tries to remember his work trips and visits to his own family. But they each think of each other’s parents as real family now, and they’ve been doing family holidays together for a few years now. Harry is probably right.

“Yes, I thought about it, and I’m sure of it. I feel a bit crap leaving you like that.” Harry pulls his lip into an exaggerated pout, and Liam imitates him. They break into smiles at the same time. “It isn’t fair of me,” Harry continues, reaching into his suit jacket pocket. Liam’s breath catches. “So, I picked up a little something for you. You know, so that you won’t forget me while I’m gone.”

Harry slides a small, expensive-looking red box across the table, and Liam can’t breathe. The box is red, not blue. Cartier, not Tiffany’s. The red is a signal, an invitation, or a warning, Liam isn’t sure. Cartier is serious.

“Go on, open it,” Harry says with a laugh, seemingly not taking this seriously at all. “It’s not going to bite.”

Liam doesn’t think he’s taken a breath yet. His face is probably turning purple, but Harry doesn’t seem to notice. He continues smiling, as the red box takes up space on the table between them. Finally, Liam realizes that he’s the one who needs to take action, that Harry is waiting for him to do so. He takes the red box in his hand, and it dawns on him a beat too late—even as he’s already opening it—that the box is too big. Of course it’s too big. Of course it isn’t a ring. A silver watch glints up at Liam, the perfectly smooth and shining rectangular face of the iconic Cartier Tank watch reflecting up at him even in the low lighting of the restaurant.

“Oh.” It’s all Liam can think to say.

Harry’s smile tightens. “Liam, you look as though you have been bitten by something.”

Liam takes a breath and feels his whole body relax. “Harry, I’m sorry, it’s just… Cartier? I genuinely can’t believe it. You shouldn’t have.”

“I wanted to,” he insists. “I’ve had it set to Dublin time.”

Liam raises an eyebrow. “So that I can think of you while you’re gone?”

“You catch on quickly. Well, sometimes.”

The two of them look at each other and break into easy laughter. Liam thinks, _this might be okay_. The reality of the watch, gleaming up at him from its pretty box, is causing an unsettled feeling in his stomach that he knows has nothing to do with the food. And yet, he’s able to breathe now, and that’s something.

Harry’s mobile goes off just then, and he checks it. “Ah, it’s Nick. Obsessing about travel plans. Let me just calm him down.”

Liam gazes at his new watch as Harry types away to Nick. He runs a finger over it, the silver metal cold to the touch. He pulls his hand away, his fingerprints now detectable against the perfect design. He’s not sure he wants to put it on just yet.

“I keep telling Nick, security won’t let him take his favorite hairspray on the plane. They’ll confiscate it, but he doesn’t believe me. Wants to have his hair in fighting shape when we land at six in the morning. My god, he’ll be such a ridiculous nightmare for two weeks.”

“You love it,” Liam says, rolling his eyes.

“In a way,” Harry concedes. “You’re so nice and easy, though,” he adds a little wistfully.

Liam isn’t sure what to say to that. He takes a sip of his wine and swirls it around in his mouth. It’s heavy for a Pinot, complex. It’s quite good, and it makes Liam wonder whether or not he really likes the feel of nice and easy.

+

Both Liam and Harry have had too much to drink for sex that night. They grab at each other, and tip over into bed, both still wearing their nice clothes, but they’re too tired from working all day and from the alcohol to do anything besides kiss and laugh at each other.

They make up for it the next morning. Liam has always liked morning sex, and Harry wants to say a proper goodbye. This time, Liam wants to kiss a little more, despite morning breath, all slow and just living in the feel of each other’s mouths before they have to separate. But Harry presses into his chest with both hands, forcing him down onto the mattress. He holds Liam’s hip down with one hand while he strokes at Liam’s cock with the other, a little too rough for just getting started.

There’s something verging on meanness about the way Harry handles him during sex sometimes. It’s not that Liam doesn’t like it. The heat simmering in the pit of his stomach, about to catch light and burn him from the inside out, tells him otherwise. It’s just that the look in Harry’s eyes as he rides Liam, fingernails digging into his chest, is so fierce in a self-contained way. They don’t speak or laugh during sex, it’s much more quiet than that. It makes Liam want to kiss Harry again—even though he knows that Harry doesn’t want it right now—just to fill up the space, just to try to reach him.

Sex before Harry isn’t something Liam often thinks about now (as it hadn’t been a huge number of people, anyway), and sex after Harry isn’t a possibility he can articulate to himself. Still, there’s a question that lingers. It crops up as Harry pushes himself off of Liam’s chest, gives him a quick kiss on the side of the mouth, and goes for a shower. Harry leaves Liam alone, and it’s the blank, empty space where he used to be that seems to wonder, _is there more_?

There’s a lot of blank space during the first week that Harry is in Ireland. When Liam orders a takeaway dinner for the third night in a row, he realizes just how often they go out to eat together. (Harry is forever wanting to try restaurants he’s read reviews about.) He talks to Zayn everyday, but Zayn is on the tenure track at Columbia, which means endless piles of essays to read through. He doesn’t have the same amount of free time at night that Liam now has. Free time to think.

The new Cartier is a weight around Liam’s wrist now, each tick of the second hand a reminder of Harry’s absence, of his non-proposal.

Liam has far too much free time to think.

Harry texts him photos: shots of half-drained pint glasses artfully arranged, the view of St. Stephen’s Green from his hotel window, a shot of him shirtless just after crawling out of bed and smirking in a far more filthy manner than should be allowed in the mornings.

Liam examines his watch and wishes this gift were easier to decipher. No one buys their boyfriend of five years a Cartier watch without meaning something by it, but this isn’t a gift that Liam can slide onto his finger, which makes its meaning more difficult to determine. He thinks about how he wishes he could be with Harry right now, drinking pints before stumbling back to the hotel room, closing the blinds on that spectacular view in order to run his hand across Harry’s bare chest, and continue on further down. Maybe he wouldn’t need to wear the watch if he were with Harry.

Liam is tired of thinking.

_Harry always goes for a bit of classic romancing_ , Zayn had said. Liam comes up with a plan to do just that. He returns to Tiffany’s, purchases a simple gold ring, and has it wrapped in a blue box. He arranges for a flight to Dublin and begins packing his suitcase. Maybe this plan seems rash, but at least it’s a plan. And, anyway, his watch is already set to Dublin time.

+

_stealing my idea!!_ reads the text from Zayn. _i hope Harry knows he’s about to marry a thieving bastard._

_Zaaaaayn. he hasn’t said yes yet. :///_

_he will say yes. good luck, or break a leg – not sure what to say! how about: safe flight!!! miss you already bro xx_

Liam sends back a _thank u!!!!_ before switching off his iPhone and pocketing it for the flight. He takes several deep breaths. It’s not that he’s afraid of flying. It’s the fact that, in about seven hours time, he’ll be surprising Harry at the hotel. He isn’t planning to propose right away—Leap Day is still a few days off—but he feels a jolt in his stomach every time he remembers the little blue box that’s wrapped up in his luggage.

He orders a whiskey and goes over the details of the next morning to try to settle his nerves. The flight is supposed to arrive in at 5:50 am. Once he clears customs, he’ll go to baggage claim where he’ll meet a driver he’s scheduled to take him to the Shelbourne hotel. Customs, baggage claim, driver, Shelbourne, he repeats to himself, his own personal mantra. And with that, he drops off to sleep.

 

When he’s jolted awake Liam assumes it’s his stomach acting up again with nerves, but is alarmed to discover that it’s the plane itself taking a dive in the air. The overhead lights flick back on, and the pilot’s voice resonates throughout the cabin.

“Ladies and gentlemen, as you can tell, we’re currently experiencing some extreme turbulence. This is due to severe weather patterns scattered throughout Ireland at the moment. We’ll be unable to land in Dublin, and are currently being diverted to Cork City Airport. Please remain in your seats with your seatbelts fastened, and we’ll have you on the ground as soon and as safely as possible.”

Liam grips his armrest so hard his knuckles are bone white, and it isn’t just from fear of the turbulence. This cannot be happening. His mantra is not made up of turbulence, and severe weather, and the Cork airport. This is a nightmare. Surely he’ll open his eyes in a little bit to discover that the plane is safely landed at the Dublin airport as scheduled.

Liam closes his eyes, and when he opens them again, it’s to see the plane landing at the tiny Cork airport. There are only a few runways, and the plane has to sit on the tarmac waiting for a gate to become available. Great, Liam thinks. He could be at home in New York, comfy in bed. Instead he’s stuck in the middle of nowhere south of Ireland, and the runways at this airport might as well be made of dirt. He knows he’s being uncharitable, but he thinks it’s more uncharitable of his nightmare to turn into real life.

Inside the terminal, it’s utter chaos, as the New Yorkers aboard Liam’s large flight from JFK all seem to feel that the best way to deal with the situation is to shout about how to get a connecting flight, a car, a horse and buggy, anything. During the interminable length of time it takes the baggage to be unloaded from the plane, Liam hunts down a bacon sandwich and tries to switch his mobile on. He’s getting absolutely no reception, which is ludicrous in his opinion, because he is at an actual functioning airport. Surely there should be wifi at the very least.

Liam checks his watch and is almost surprised to remember that Dublin time is the same as Cork time. It certainly doesn’t feel that way, and he wonders, a bit melodramatically, if he’ll ever find Harry this way. Eventually he collects his suitcase and queues up at the guest services desk along with all the other stranded passengers from his flight. What feels like hours later, it’s finally his turn. Before he can even get a word out, the woman at the desk holds up her hand.

“I’m sorry, all flights are fully booked for the day, and the last rental car has just gone.”

“I need to get—” Liam begins. “Wait, I’m sorry, what? There’s… nothing? Well, where have all the cars gone to?”

“To other customers. In case you hadn’t noticed, sir, we’re a bit busy today. Your best bet is to take the ferry.”

“The ferry?”

“The Cross River Ferry,” the woman says in a tone indicating that Liam should know this.

“But I’m going to Dublin,” Liam says dumbly.

“Dublin!” the woman bursts out. “Everyone wants to chat about Dublin. We’ve had to deal with bad weather here too, you know. And look how we’re faring! Naturally we’re being completely overlooked.”

“I’m sorry, I didn’t intend to overlook Cork,” Liam apologizes even though he’s feeling much more sorry for himself than for Cork at the moment.

“The ferry,” the woman continues, “is that way.” She points to her left with a grim smile, and is already looking beyond Liam to the next customer.

“Thank you,” Liam says, because it looks as though the ferry is his only escape from this godforsaken airport, and he isn’t in a position to argue or pass that up.

It’s only after he’s on-board one of the ferries—along with about a hundred other people, and checked his mobile again (still no reception)—that Liam realizes the ferry is actually taking him in the complete wrong direction. He’s going farther south, away from Dublin. Of course he is. It’s that kind of day.

When the ferry reaches land again, Liam hauls his suitcase and himself away from the dock and down to the small beach. It’s really only a beach by Irish standards: a lot of thick, dirty-looking sand, and clusters of monolith-like rocks. Liam doesn’t care about the scenery. He’s got no idea where he is, no place to go, and no way to get in contact with Harry. He sits down on his suitcase and looks out at the water. The light is a sort of half-light, grey, almost grim. The sea is verging on rough, with some whitecaps showing, and Liam thinks it’s reflective of his mood. Zayn probably has a word for that—when the weather echoes a person’s emotions—some scholarly metaphorical term or something.

He could really use a chat with Zayn right now. Zayn would be empathetic, but also help come up with a plan of attack from here on out. Liam is usually happy to come up with a plan on his own, but, as he sits unsteadily on his suitcase, the coastal wind whipping around him, he feels hollowed out. Every decision he’s made up to this point has apparently been the wrong one, and he still has a ring burning a hole in his suitcase. It had seemed so simple back in New York. He had needed a way to reach Harry, properly reach him. So naturally he should buy a plane ticket and a ring. However, now the idea of reaching Harry in any way seems like an impossibility.

Liam notices another man standing out on the beach. He’s leaning against the rocks a bit further down and looking out toward the water, too. Even from this distance Liam can see that his face has a sharp, pointed quality to it, and his hair is wild in the wind. He doesn’t seem to have noticed Liam, too absorbed in his own thoughts. There’s something terribly striking about this man, but, even though he’s in desperate need of help, it’s the kind of striking that has Liam turning away instead of approaching him.

Liam looks away from the water and the beach toward land instead. He can see a little cluster of buildings up on the hill, giving him hope of finding a working telephone. Liam brushes off his suitcase as best he can and begins walking, finally setting foot on real Irish soil.

+

There are a few tiny houses in a row, but Liam doesn’t fancy knocking on strangers’ doors, not yet. So he pulls open the door to what looks like the local pub, apparently called The Lake Isle, and steps inside. The Lake Isle is dim in a cozy way, with wooden beams criss-crossing on the ceiling. There’s writing painted across the beams, but Liam is too distracted to make out what it says. There’s a low hum of chatter, as a few of the tables are occupied, and the telly is set to RTÉ news.

Liam heads toward the bar out of instinct. He could use a drink, and some more food now that he thinks about it, but what he really needs to do is speak to the bartender. He leans against the bar counter, and his watch makes a noise as he taps his hand lightly, waiting for someone to appear.

Someone does appear, and it isn’t the person Liam is expecting. It’s the man from the beach. Liam can tell because he’s even more sharp in person, the cut of his cheekbones and the jut of his chin almost turning his face into a heart. His eyes are a complex blue: bright, but also glimmering with a steely grey edge. He’s running a hand through his hair, but it still looks as though a hurricane has swept through it. The man sees Liam, and levels him with an intense look that Liam can’t read. Liam’s mouth falls open, though no sound comes out, because it hits him suddenly that this man is actually rather beautiful, and he wasn’t at all prepared for that.

Liam is saved from having to speak to the beautiful, terrifying man by the appearance of another person. This man has blonde hair, and clear blue eyes, like the sky on a cloudless day. He’s smiling and wearing an apron. Liam’s mouth feels less dry now, and he finds that it’s much easier to lean forward over the counter and address himself to this man.

“I’m sorry to be a bother, but do you have a telephone I could use?” Liam asks as politely as he can. “I’ve ended up sort of stranded, and my iPhone isn’t working.”

“Stranded? I’m sorry to hear that, mate.” And he does sound sorry. He’s speaking in an Irish accent, but it sounds slightly different to the thick Cork accents Liam has heard all morning. “Of course you can use the phone. We actually still have a landline, can you believe it? It is helpful when those damned smartphones run out of battery. It’s just over there in the corner.”

Relief sweeps over Liam in a hot wave and he feels like he might collapse. “Thank you so much,” he returns, gripping the counter so as not to fall over. “And do you have the number of a taxi company? I’d like to try one.”

The nice, smiling man opens his mouth to answer, but Hurricane Hair from the beach beats him to it. “Sure, we have the number of a taxi company. Hold on one second, mate.” He scribbles something on a piece of paper, and Liam notes that he’s English, not Irish.

“Louis,” the Smiley One cautions under his breath.

“Here you go!” Hurricane Hair (or Louis, apparently) cries very loudly, sliding a piece of paper with a number written on it across the counter to Liam. He still has that mercurial look in his eyes that Liam can’t quite catch hold of.

“Er, cheers,” Liam says, and is relieved to move away toward the little telephone booth in the corner.

He figures he’ll ring the taxi company first, and then talk to Harry when he has an actual plan for finally arriving in Dublin. He relaxes when he sees that Louis disappears back into the kitchen. It’s just the Smiley One behind the bar now, wiping down the counter. Liam takes a breath and dials the number. Someone picks up on the third ring.

“Yes, hello,” Liam begins. “I need to make it to Dublin if at all possible.”

“Dublin? I’m afraid that will be difficult,” is the response. There’s something familiar about the voice.

“Will it?” Liam asks, desperation creeping into his tone. “I’m willing to pay quite a lot of money for your trouble.”

“While that’s nice to know, I’m afraid the difficulty is that this taxi service has a strict policy of not driving twats decked out in Burberry trench coats.”

“What? I’m sorry,” Liam sputters. “Just how exactly do you know what I’m wearing?”

“Because I can see you, of course.”

Liam whirls around, still holding the receiver to his ear. “Ah,” he says as he spots the trouble. Louis is leaning against the kitchen doorframe, cradling a phone receiver against his shoulder. Liam is alarmed to see that he looks as attractive as ever while smirking. “This is the taxi company, then?”

“No need to sound so doubtful about it, this is a good business!” Louis cries, standing up straight.

“The local pub is also the taxi stand, yes, that seems safe.”

“Listen, I just do the coordinating. I’m not the one doing the drinking or the driving.”

“Thank god for that! And, by the way, this is an extremely high quality trench coat!” And with that Liam slams the receiver down.

He’s angry now, if he’s being honest. He thinks that complexity in Louis’ eyes must be plain meanness and he’s not in the mood, not today. He glances at his watch. It’s already half past three, and, because it’s still winter, it will be getting dark soon. The best plan at this point is probably to find a hotel where he can crash and call Harry from the privacy of his own room.

Liam turns toward the other man, the Smiley One. He’s shaking his head and doing his best not to laugh at Louis, who is looking very proud of himself. Liam summons his last reserves of politeness. “Could you please point me in the direction of the nearest hotel?”

“Yes, Niall,” Louis says, evidently indicating the Smiley One. “Can you point this man in the direction of a hotel?”

Niall raises his eyebrows at Liam, and then crouches down, looking for something underneath the counter. He re-emerges with a heavy looking registrar book and a pen.

“Room for one, is it?” Niall asks, a smile twitching at the corner of his mouth. “I think we can pencil you in here.”

Liam takes a step backwards. “Let me see if I have this right,” he cries, beyond the point of caring that he’s making a scene in the middle of a strange pub. “This place is the pub, the taxi company, _and_ the local hotel. Anything else you want to add on? The church? The local dentist, as well?”

“Nah, Old Michael the dentist is down the road,” Niall inclines his head, towards where Old Michael can be found.

Niall and Louis are grinning at him now, but whereas Louis looks rather like a shark baring its teeth, Niall looks sympathetic. Liam heaves a sigh. “Alright then, I’ll take a room for bloody one.”

Niall and Louis high-five at this news, and Louis disappears, presumably looking for a key.

“Let me take down your name, then.” Niall says in a more business-like tone.

“Liam. Liam Payne.”

“Well, Liam Payne, you’ll have to excuse our Louis,” Niall says, leaning across the bar with an earnest look in his eye. “He likes to make his own fun.”

“Yes.” Liam grits his teeth together. “It seems like an awful lot of fun for him.”

“I really am sorry you’re stranded,” Niall offers. “But this bad mood is nothing a hot meal and a stiff drink can’t fix. I’ll make you something good while Louis shows you to your room.”

Liam doesn’t want anything more to do with Louis, but Niall is already shouting instructions through the doorway into the kitchen, and the idea of a hot meal does sound amazing right now.

Louis returns with a metal key in hand. “Liam, is it? Have you got any luggage?” he asks.

“Yes, this one suitcase.”

“Good, grab it and come on!” Louis waves him over to a set of stairs at one side of the pub.

“So much for good service,” Liam grunts as he picks up his suitcase and follows Louis.

Louis doesn’t turn around, but Liam hears the distinct sound of laughter as he leads the way up the stairs.

 

“So, where exactly are you?” Harry asks over the phone line. Liam miraculously has one bar of reception in his room, and he immediately takes advantage to ring Harry.

“I’m actually not sure. Somewhere in County Cork, but very far south. Along the coast, I think.” Liam can’t help laughing at his own cluelessness.

“Oh my god,” Harry laughs too, in a stunned sort of way. “Liam, I can’t believe it. You reckon you’ll be able to make it to Dublin by tomorrow?”

“Yeah, I’ll have the nice bartender here, Niall, help me sort out a ride. After that, it can’t be too far to Dublin. I mean, it’s only a small island, right?”

“This is brilliant!” Harry says, and he sounds like he means it.

“Really?” Liam asks, feeling like he might cry all of sudden.

“Yes, you nutter, I’ve missed you. And now you’re here!”

“Sort of here.”

“You know, Guinness just makes Nick sleepy, but it makes me horny, isn’t that weird?”

“Very weird,” Liam agrees.

“So you’d better hurry your arse up here, is what I’m saying.”

“Well, I was going to take my time, but now…”

“Oh, hang on, Caroline’s here. We’re going out in a bit.” Liam can tell Harry’s pulling the phone away from his face and shouting. “Liam’s here! Like, in Ireland here! Shut up, of course I’m serious.” He comes back on the line, saying, “Hey, Liam? I’ve got to go now.”

“Of course,” Liam replies, suddenly feeling vaguely anxious, like he’s intruding. “Go have fun,” he says.

They hang up, and Liam knows he should charge his mobile now, but sits down on his bed (a narrow twin bed, occupying one corner of a tiny room), resting for a moment. Harry is always easily distracted by other people and other things, but at least he had sounded pleased about Liam’s surprise for a minute. And after everything, it was comforting just to hear his voice.

Liam can hear the hum of multiple voices buzzing as the pub fills up below his room, and he even thinks he can make out the distinct voices of Niall and Louis bantering back and forth. He glances around looking for an outlet and his gaze falls on a photo. It’s a framed photo sitting on the wooden desk across from the bed. Liam stands up to take a closer look at it. He probably wouldn’t have noticed it at all, except, well, Louis is in it.

The photo is of Louis and another man. The man has thick dark hair and blue eyes that are even icier than Louis’ own. He’s staring straight into the camera lens. However, Louis is turned sideways and looking at him. He has one hand resting on the man’s chest, and, from the looks of it, the other hand wrapped around his back. Louis’ hair is soft and falling across his face in a fringe, but there’s no way to cover up his smile, or the way his eyes are crinkling up out of pure happiness. Liam tries to reconcile this portrait with the rude person he’d met downstairs, and also the contemplative person he’d observed out on the beach, and finds it very difficult.

Just then there’s a loud rapping on the door, and then it’s opening before Liam even has time to respond. Naturally, it’s Louis. Liam hides the picture frame behind his back.

“Hello, hello! Make way for room service,” Louis cries, as he sets a tray down on the desk. “Niall’s fixed you up a pint, a plate of chips, and a cheeseburger, American-style.” Louis puts his hands on his hips and smiles at Liam as though this is the most wonderful display of food with which he’s ever presented anyone. “And you said we had bad service here.”

“I said you in particular were responsible for bad service,” Liam reminds him. “I didn’t implicate Niall or anyone else. But, if you’re going to bring me food like this, I might be open to changing my mind.” Louis blinks at him, but he doesn’t look upset by Liam’s response. Instead, he’s giving Liam an appraising sort of look. For some reason it makes Liam want to jump out of his own skin. “Thank you so much,” he says, breaking the silence. “The food looks delicious, it's exactly what I need.”

Liam’s stomach growls as the smell of the salted chips and cheeseburger fills the room, and he has to admit that Louis’ attitude is correct, this is kind of wonderful. He walks over to the desk and reaching out for the tray. Only he’s forgotten that he’s holding the picture frame in one hand and, of course, Louis sees it.

“Give us that,” Louis commands in a terse voice.

“Sorry,” Liam apologizes as he hands it over. “The picture was just sitting here on the table. I picked it up to look at it, and then you walked in, and I… That’s you, isn’t it?”

Louis gives him a very hard look. “Yes, it’s me. And it was an oversight that it was in here in the first place. I apologize.”

Louis turns on his heel and storms out down the hallway, picture frame in hand. He leaves the door open, and Liam is almost afraid to move in the wake of his stern fury. He can hear Louis banging around in a room further down the hallway, and he looks sadly at the tray of food, suddenly not feeling very hungry.

Instead of the food, Liam decides to focus on his iPhone, more specifically getting it charged up again. He crouches around the floor and finds an outlet behind the bed. He’s just gotten the adapter and the plug shoved into the wall when he hears his door creaking. Liam looks over his shoulder to see Louis in the room again. 

“You should eat before the food gets cold,” he says. Both his face and his voice have gone blank. Liam wonders how he can wipe his emotions away like that, and where he stores them. “Niall isn’t going to bill you for this meal because he’s a big softie. I’d take advantage if I were you.”

“Wow.” Liam sways a little bit, still in his position crouched on the ground. “That’s really kind of him. Of course I’ll eat. I just wanted to charge my mobile a bit.”

Liam plugs the cord in. The iPhone screen lights up for one dazzling second before making a scary kind of crackling noise and going blank. It’s one more moment before the electricity in the room does the same thing.

“Oh my god!” Liam cries, looking down at his iPhone in disbelief.

“Fuck!” Louis swears, and Liam can see the outline of his silhouette flapping around in confusion from the doorway. “Holy shit, Liam! What’s just happened?”

“My iPhone just died!”

“You’ll have to forgive me if I don’t recite a eulogy for your bloody iPhone. If you hadn’t noticed, the electricity in the whole building just blew out!”

“I thought I had the right voltage,” Liam wails.

“Oh, you thought so?” Louis mocks. “A lot of good your thinking has done. Maybe stop thinking for a little while. Shit! We should have some torches around somewhere. Let me see.” Louis is mostly talking to himself now, and Liam hears him groping along the wall to find his way to the stairs. “This would be a helluva lot easier if I could see where I’m going!” he calls in a very pointed voice as he makes his way further down the corridor.

“Sorry!” Liam calls, miserably, from where he’s still sitting on the floor.

It’s dark outside by now, which means it’s also very dark in the room. Liam has the door open to let what little light there is from the hallway in as he picks at his plate of chips. He doesn’t know what he’ll do with himself without electricity once he’s finished eating. Hopefully sleep for about twenty hours straight, and wake up back in his own bed in New York with Harry there, too, this whole Ireland business some strange alternate reality.

Liam hears voices and footsteps on the stairs, one voice in particular reminding him that this is the one and only reality, and he’s stuck with it. Two beams of light shine into his room, letting Liam know that he has visitors.

“Here he is!” Louis shouts as he appears in the doorway behind his torch light. “It’s the electricity killer himself.” A waking nightmare, more like, Liam thinks to himself.

“Oi!” Niall cries, striding into the room. “Are you trying to put me out of business, Liam Payne?”

“Niall, I’m so sorry. I’m not an electrician, as you can probably tell, but please let me know if there’s anything I can do to help.”

Even in the weak torch light, Liam can see that Niall is smiling. “Nah, it’s alright. I called my brother. Literally, I had to go outside and shout his name. Luckily he lives a couple houses down, so it worked out okay. He’s taking care of it right now. Downstairs we’ve got candles lit. We’re going for that romantic fire hazard atmosphere.”

“Didn’t think you could be trusted with a candle, though,” Louis cuts in. “You’ll be setting the whole place on fire next.”

“I said I was sorry, and I meant it,” Liam grits through his teeth.

Liam knows it’s his fault, he doesn’t need Louis to keep rubbing it in. He can’t help himself, he’s back to being angry with the whole situation and with Louis again. Louis doesn’t seem to know when Liam’s fed up and keeps needling him. Or maybe he does know and doesn’t care. Liam can’t tell at all with him, and it’s exhausting. He forces himself to look over to Niall and focus on him instead.

“In the meantime,” Niall's saying in a pacifying tone, “here’s a light for you.” He hands his torch over to Liam and begins to turn away. “Try to wait until tomorrow to cause any more trouble, yeah?” he calls over his shoulder with a little laugh as he leaves the room.

Liam gives a weak smile, but doesn’t say anything in reply. He walks over to close his door, finally ready to shut himself away after what must be the longest day of his life. His light slants down the hallway a little bit, and he can see Niall and Louis walking away together. Liam stays put for a moment, keeping the light in the hallway long enough to see Niall wrap an arm around Louis’ waist and draw him in. Liam remains where he is, and sees Louis reciprocate with his arm around Niall’s waist, letting his head drop onto Niall’s shoulder, as the two of them walk away.

Liam closes his door and stands with his back to it. He remembers the framed photograph that Louis hadn’t wanted him to see. He thinks of the comfortable way Niall had pulled Louis in. Liam has to admit it to himself, he’s surprised that Louis had fallen into Niall without protest. Of course it makes sense, they obviously know each other extremely well. They work together, and maybe they’re _together_ together. Of course Louis would want to be close to Niall.

Liam can’t get the image out of his head: a hand wrapping around the dip at Louis’ waist, gentle but firm, and Louis responding to it. Something sears through the pit of Liam’s stomach, and he doesn’t quite understand, has to lean back against the door for support. Maybe that’s all it takes—an easy and confident kind of intimacy—to make someone like Louis as happy as he had appeared in the photograph.

+

{The Twenty-Sixth of February}

Liam blinks awake the next morning to find his feet dangling off the edge of a narrow bed that is very much not his own. Some leftover chips are still sitting out on the tray from where he hadn’t finished eating them, and the room smells vaguely of salt. The overhead light is on, the electricity having come back sometime during the night, but he had been sleeping too deeply to notice.

Liam fumbles around on the nightstand, momentarily picking up his iPhone before remembering that it won’t work. He checks his watch and realizes that he had been out for thirteen hours, but, since he had passed out so early last evening, it’s only eight am here. He can smell bacon and other breakfast foods wafting up from the kitchen downstairs. He hopes that means it’s Niall doing the cooking, not Louis. Liam yawns, pulls himself out of bed, and scrambles around for some clothes, determined to get Niall to help him find a way out of this place as soon as possible.

Liam starts down the stairs, and he can hear dishes and silverware clanking together and the low hum of conversation. Niall and Louis come into view, sitting across from each other at one of the tables in the middle of the empty pub, eating breakfast. There’s something terribly intimate about the quiet domesticity of the scene, and Liam pauses on the stairs, unwilling to intrude.

“Louis,” Niall is saying. “I hate to bring it up, but it’s nearly the end of the month. Have you made any progress saving up?”

Louis’ back is to Liam, and he can see Louis’ shoulders tense. “I’ve been meaning to tell you,” he says in a quiet voice. “I’ve had to send the portion I was saving up for this month home to my mum.”

Niall’s expression goes soft. “Why didn’t you just say? Is everything alright at home?”

“Yeah, it’s all good. Lottie’s just moved out to her first flat, which is great for her. It’s one less mouth to feed, but also one less person to help out, and the twins still haven’t finished school. And I wanted Lottie to spend her first grown-up pay check on her own things instead of sending it home, so I picked up some of the slack.”

Niall reaches across the table and takes one of Louis’ hands. “You make other big brothers look like shit, you know that, right?”

“Maybe.” Louis gives a light laugh. “But I still owe you, and that really is shitty.”

Niall waves his hand like he’s unconcerned. “By the way, I hope Daisy’s doing well. Say hi to her for me next time you call home.”

“None of that!” Louis shakes a finger in Niall’s face. “You know she has an incurable crush on you.”

“Who could blame her?” Niall asks, leaning back in his chair and spreading his arms out wide.

“No.” Louis shakes his head. “Absolutely not.”

Liam has to cover his mouth to stop from laughing. The two of them are so odd together. He doesn’t think they’re in a relationship, not from the way they’re talking about money. It’s nothing like the way Harry and Liam have ever talked—in fact they try never to discuss money, as Harry thinks it’s boring—but then, maybe that doesn’t mean much. Liam has been with Harry for so long now, it’s sometimes hard to remember that other couples must be different.

Liam almost wants to creep back up to his room to leave Niall and Louis alone for a little while longer, but, of course, the step makes a creaking noise as he shifts, and they both look over to him.

“Good morning,” Liam says brightly, continuing down the stairs, trying to act as though he hasn’t just been eavesdropping.

Niall smiles at him warmly, and it’s all sunshine, while Louis is all wary frost.

“Hungry?” Niall asks. “I saved some eggs and bacon, if you’d like.”

“Eggs and bacon sound amazing right now, thank you.”

Niall pushes his chair back, and moves away toward the kitchen door. Liam walks around to stand by Niall’s empty seat and looks straight at Louis.

“Louis,” he begins, and Louis startles at being addressed directly by him. “Do you have a car of your own?”

“I don’t see how it’s any of your business but, yes, I do.”

“It really isn’t my business,” Liam replies. “Except that I’ve had an idea.”

Out of the corner of his eye, Liam can see that Niall has paused on the threshold of the doorway, and has turned around to watch them. “This oughta be good,” he comments.

Louis folds his arms across his chest and stares at Liam, daring him to propose his idea.

“I told you last night that I’d be willing to pay pretty handsomely for a ride to Dublin, because that was actually you on the telephone, if you’ll recall. Mocking my perfectly nice trench coat.”

“You’re awfully hung up on this coat,” Louis observes.

“You started it!” Liam cries. “Anyway, that is not the point. The point is that the offer still stands.” Liam takes a breath, wanting to be careful about addressing Louis’ need for money in a tactful way. “I’m still willing to pay. Cash. If you drive me to Dublin today.”

“You think I can just drop everything to spend my day driving you all the way to Dublin?”

Liam makes a show of looking around the empty Lake Isle, and then back to Louis. “Yeah, that is what I think.”

Louis glances over to Niall, who throws up his hands like this one is out of his league. He retreats into the kitchen, and Louis sits still at the table for a moment. Liam is certain he’s going to say no.

Then Louis stands up, and leans across the table to Liam. “One thousand euros.”

“I said that I’m willing to pay, not that I’m delusional,” Liam cries. “Five hundred.”

“Nine,” Louis counters.

“Six.”

“Eight-fifty.”

“Six-fifty, final offer,” Liam says, even though he isn’t in much of a position to be demanding final anything when Louis is the one with the car.

Luckily for him, Louis seems to be satisfied. At least that’s what Liam thinks it means, as a scary sort of smile plays its way across Louis’ face. He walks around the table and makes like he’s going to shake Liam’s hand. Liam holds out his own hand, but then Louis is grabbing at Liam’s chest, pinching his nipple, and twisting, and _ouch_.

“What the fuck!”

“That’s an Irish yes,” Louis smirks. “Isn’t that right, Niall?” he calls towards the kitchen. The sound of bright laughter is the only answer he receives.

“But you’re not even Irish!” Liam gasps out.

“Be ready to leave in an hour,” is Louis’s only response before bounding away up the stairs.

Liam collapses in a chair, one hand clamped over his nipple. He has a funny feeling in the pit of his stomach, but he assumes it’s just because he’s hungry. And nervous. He’s suddenly quite worried about what he’s gotten himself into. Apparently he needs to wear body armor around Louis now, not to mention the fact that he’s just promised to pay for the privilege of spending all day in a car with Louis.

He takes a couple of deep breaths, trying to calm himself as he looks around The Lake Isle. A pub without customers is an odd sight, but Liam appreciates it as an oasis of calm, especially with the early morning sunlight streaming in through the windows.

Liam had noticed yesterday that there are words painted across the wooden support beams along the ceiling, but he hadn’t stopped to read it. The light illuminates the writing now:

_And I shall have some peace there_ , sprawls out across one beam.

_For peace comes dropping slow_ , on the next.

_Dropping from the veils of the morning_ , reads the beam just near where Liam is sitting.

He vaguely recognizes the phrases from somewhere, and that strange feeling he can’t identify is stirring in his stomach again. It’s not unpleasant, in fact, he’s feeling calmer, the words lulling him into a sense of security.

_Just make it to Dublin_ , he tells himself.

 

Liam realizes that making it to Dublin is no guaranteed thing as he sets eyes on Louis’s car: a rickety Renault Clio that looks as though it’s older than Liam himself. He fits his suitcase in the back, as Louis refuses to be on luggage duty, and buckles himself in with some trepidation. He gives Niall as cheery a smile as possible as they pull away, Niall waving to them until they’re out of sight.

Louis is quiet while driving, which Liam had not expected. He keeps his eyes focused on the road ahead, only addressing Liam to ask him to find a map in the glove compartment at one point. The silence fills the car, and Liam tries to stop himself from staring over at Louis too much. He looks at his watch instead, and wishes he could chat with Harry or with Zayn. Even if he hadn’t blown out his iPhone, the time difference would rule Zayn out, and Liam is wary of bothering Harry too much. He’s here with his colleagues, with his friends, a fact Liam had been reminded of last evening when Harry had rung off. But he doesn’t want to dwell on Harry’s social life too much, it makes his head hurt.

Liam sneaks a glance over at Louis again. He’s as quiet as ever, both hands gripping the steering wheel, his jaw tight as though he’s thinking hard about something. If Liam didn’t know better, he would think Louis was the quietest person he’d ever met.

 

Niall had said something to him as he was settling the bill for overnight stay. He had reached over the bar counter to clap Liam on the shoulder and said, “Make sure you send Louis back to me in one piece.”

Liam had raised an eyebrow. “I should think the pub stands a better chance of staying in one piece without him here for a little while.”

That’s when Niall had smiled in a way that Liam had never seen before, very small, like the smile itself was a secret. “I know it seems like Louis just fucks around,” Niall said, pulling slightly on Liam’s shoulder, bringing him closer. “But he has a way of making himself indispensable, until you can’t get by without him. That’s the Tommo. That’s his trick.”

“The Tommo?” Liam asked dumbly, because he couldn’t think of any other response.

“Louis “the Tommo” Tomlinson. You’ll see.” Then Niall laughed, his usual bright laugh. The time for telling small secrets was over. Liam had to leave, but he didn’t quite understand.

 

Looking at Louis now, he still doesn’t really understand. The two of them have only been in the car together for thirty minutes, but it feels like much longer, and Liam thinks he might have to throw himself out the window if he has to sit chewing on this silence between himself and Louis any more.

“I’ve been trying to get to Dublin for over twenty-four hours now,” Liam observes, just to say something. “It’s not that I want to visit Dublin, necessarily, but I need to get there.” Liam pauses, and then decides to go for the truth. “My boyfriend is there for work at the moment, and I’m planning to propose to him. I want to propose to him on Leap Day because I’ve heard it’s an Irish tradition. So, it’s quite urgent, you see.”

Louis gapes at him with a look on his face as though Liam’s suddenly grown an extra head. “That must be the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard,” he declares.

“What do you mean? Proposing to my boyfriend?”

“The whole thing!” Louis cries, and then he bursts out laughing. “Proposing on Leap Day, oh my god. I’ll let you in on a secret, Liam: it’s only the twenty-sixth of February. I think you’ll be okay.”

“Forgive me if I’m a little skeptical, seeing as how I haven’t been able to make it out of the south of Ireland yet.”

Louis shrugs like he can see Liam’s point. “No one pays attention to that Leap Day tradition, you know. It’s rubbish. Besides,” he casts a sideways glance over to Liam, “I think that tradition is supposed to be for women.”

“Again, you aren’t Irish!” Liam huffs. “Why do you keep acting like you’re some kind of authority just because your best mate is Irish? You can’t say it’s rubbish. Besides, I know it’s supposed to be for women, okay? My mate, Zayn, told me all about it. I just think the tradition is a nice thing to hold on to. Tradition itself is romantic.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Louis sounds impassioned now. “ _That_ is the stupidest thing I’ve ever heard. Tradition is romantic? I guess you can think that if you like. But I think tradition is limiting. It locks you in. It can burn you.”

“Fucking hell, what kind of tradition are you talking about?” Liam laughs out of shock. He looks at Louis’ left hand. “I see you’re not wearing a ring. Just because you’re not engaged doesn’t mean you have to be so down on romance.”

The car gives a start as Louis hits the brakes. He stares at Liam very intently for a moment, and then makes a show of looking over at Liam’s left hand. “And you’re not engaged as of yet, either, so perhaps you should calm down, yeah?”

Liam sits back in his seat and folds his arms across his chest. He has no response because Louis is right. He likes tradition, and Harry likes romance, but there’s always the looming possibility of a refusal. Harry had had the chance to buy Liam a ring, Liam is sure of it. That had been a crossroads of sorts, and Harry had chosen to go with a very expensive and obvious non-ring. Liam doesn’t want to dwell on what the significance of that might be.

 

They haven’t been driving for very long, but Louis insists on stopping at a small tea shop they happen to come across.

“Never know when we’ll see another sign of civilization out here. It’s all twisty roads, sheep, and bogs,” he says. “We’d better grab something to eat now while we can.”

Liam knows he doesn’t stand a chance of winning an argument with the driver, so he follows Louis inside the little shop. They sit across from each other at a little rickety table and somehow end up arguing about _The Godfather_.

“The second film,” Louis is saying. “With Robert DeNiro. He’s such a proper gangster. You can’t beat young Don Corleone.”

“Excuse me, Marlon Brando, hello?” Liam shakes his head. “Anyway, the first film is the original one, that means it’s the best.”

Louis makes a face like he doesn’t even have the energy to explain why Liam is wrong. They both end up ordering jacket potatoes without consulting each other, and they smile a bit sheepishly at one another when the tiny old lady who runs the shop brings them their identical orders.

Louis takes his time eating, so much time that Liam starts glancing pointedly at his watch every couple of minutes.

“Alright!” Louis gripes, finally. “I take it you’ve never heard of subtlety as a concept.”

“Are you quite sure you grasp the concept yourself?” Liam shoots back, and Louis rolls his eyes.

 

Back in the car, it’s way past noon now, and Liam has trouble sitting still. He’s shaking with the need to get to Dublin, and to be rid of Louis and his irritating views on tradition, _The Godfather_ , and, well, everything else. Probably. Liam is sure he’s very annoying all around.

Louis turns on some music to fill the silence. Liam is thankful for this until they end up listening to the same song by The Fray four times in a row.

“The DJing could do with a little variety,” he snarks.

“Oh, I suppose you’d rather listen to something cooler? Kanye or Jay-Z, I’m sure.”

“Yes, actually, I would.” Liam bristles at Louis’ tone, which had been implying that something like Jay-Z isn’t real music. “I work in music, you know,” he adds, after a moment. Usually after he reveals this, people treat his opinions on music with a little more respect.

“Good for you,” is all Louis says, turning up the volume on The Fray.

 

Liam doesn’t realize he had fallen asleep until his head bangs against the window, waking him up.

“Wha—?” Liam rubs at his eyes. He doesn’t understand what’s going on.

“We have to stop,” is the rather unhelpful answer Louis provides. His hands slip off the steering wheel, and he leans back in his seat.

Liam sits up. “What’s going on?” he demands, trying to keep the panic he feels out of his voice.

“Look outside.” Louis points out the windshield as though it’s perfectly obvious.

When Liam looks, he sees that it is obvious. The biggest herd of sheep Liam has ever seen is streaming down the hillside and into the road. Some of the sheep are hovering around the edges, grazing at whatever grass is managing to grow during the winter. But most of the sheep, it appears to Liam, are just congregating in the middle of the road for no reason at all.

“Why? What?” He’s unable to form even a proper sentence. He reaches for the door handle and opens it, stepping outside.

“What the hell are you doing?” Louis calls.

“What am I doing?” Liam yells, as Louis turns off the engine and scrambles out of the car too. “What are the hell are _they_ doing?” He waves his arms to indicate the sheep.

“Trying to cross the road.”

Liam closes his eyes. “This is some kind of bad joke. Why did the sheep cross the road? To piss off Liam!” He hears Louis snort, and it’s not appreciated. “I am on a schedule, and stopping for sheep is not part of that.”

“Leap Day, I know, I know. But I’ve told you, mate. It’s still days away. We’ll make it to Dublin, and you’ll be absolutely grand with your ridiculous Leap Day proposal.”

“It’s not ridiculous!” Liam insists. He’s yelling without meaning to, but the sheep are making noise, it’s windy outside, and Louis is still standing at the other side of the car.

Now he walks over toward Liam. “It’s perfectly ridiculous. The sooner you acknowledge that the better.” Liam begins to protest, but he cuts in. “What are you going to do? Chase the entire herd of sheep away? I’d like to see you try, but I don’t want to be responsible for a man getting trampled by sheep, of all animals.”

“I wouldn’t—”

“Get back in the goddamned car.”

Liam frowns at Louis. Louis seems to take this as either a challenge or an invitation of some kind, because he reaches out—Liam knows what he’s going to do this time, but he isn’t quick enough to stop it—and pinches one of Liam’s nipples.

“Get in the car,” Louis repeats with a smirk. After standing in shocked silence for a moment, Liam does.

 

Liam is leaning his head against the window, very much awake now. His left nipple is tingling, and his stomach is doing that familiar hot fluttery thing it’s been doing for the past day or so. He wants to know why Louis keeps touching him like that. He doesn’t ask directly because, the thing is, he knows he hasn’t stopped Louis from touching him yet, and he has the vague sense that the bigger question is why that is.

“He must really be something,” Louis says unexpectedly into the silence.

“What?” Liam asks, distracted. “Who?”

Louis gives him that look like he’s got two heads again. “Your boyfriend.”

“Oh!” Liam sits up in his seat like he’s been stung. “Harry, yeah. Harry is… He’s great.”

Harry is a lot more than great, but, for some reason, a proper description is eluding Liam at the moment. He stares out the window at the sheep. They’ve shifted a little bit, but they’re still blocking the road. No one else has pulled up behind them yet, no other car just as eager to get to Dublin, or anywhere else, for that matter. It makes Liam feel crazy, like he and Louis are the only two people in the entire country. This is a very disconcerting thought, and Liam makes a huffing kind of sigh just to try to banish it. Something like this would never be allowed to happen in New York.

He looks at Louis again, who is still quiet but fidgety, bouncing one of his legs up and down. Liam feels a bit badly then, as he remembers that this is Louis’s day too, and that he’ll have to drive all the way back from Dublin after this because Niall needs him.

“I’m sorry about earlier,” Liam offers, and Louis looks up at him in surprise. “I mean, when I mentioned that you aren’t engaged yourself. I shouldn’t have tried to judge your private life just because you disagreed with me.”

An emotion flits across Louis’ face, but Liam can’t tell what it is. Louis opens his mouth as though to speak, but then closes it again. Liam decides to take advantage of Louis’ temporary speechlessness.

“I wasn’t sure,” he continues. “For a little while, I thought you and Niall might be, well, that you might be together. I don’t know. It’s none of my business. But it would be extra-shit of me to comment on your view of relationships if you two were together. Niall is nice.”

Liam thinks he sees something like relief washing over Louis at this. “Yeah,” Louis says, finally speaking. “Niall’s great.” Liam has the distinct impression that Louis is taking the piss out of him.

Louis looks down at his hands, and, when he starts speaking again, it’s in a carefully controlled tone of voice. “Niall is very important to me. He helped me at a time when I really needed it, when I couldn’t help myself. I love him, but not like that.” He looks Liam in the eye now. “So, no, we’re not together. That’s what you’re asking, right?”

Liam lets out a breath he didn’t realize he’d been holding. “Yeah.” It comes out as a whisper, as though it somehow doesn’t feel right to speak after Louis’ confession.

This is the most information he’s managed to get out of Louis directly about his personal life so far, but even this isn’t all that telling or detailed. Louis’ jaw is set again, like some kind of ancient stone sculpture, and Liam knows he won’t be able to coax any further information of out him right now.

Liam wonders when he had gone from turning away from Louis down on the beach to feeling the sharp prickling of curiosity being awakened and drawing him toward Louis.

 

“You know,” Louis starts. The sheep and Liam’s apology seem to have driven him to break his controlled silence. “Talking of Jay-Z—”

“We weren’t.”

“Earlier. We were earlier.”

“Because you refuse to give his music a chance.”

“Yes, that’s right.” Louis’ blue eyes are shining wickedly. He has no time for Liam’s petty insults right now, and he barrels straight on to his point. “I reckon you and Jay-Z could get together, you might have a lot in common to talk about.” Louis’ eyes flicker. “Your watch collection for starters.”

Liam gives a laugh. So that’s what this is about. “I’d hate to disappoint Jay, but this is the only Cartier I own. My boyfriend bought this watch for me, right before he left for Ireland.”

“Ah, so your boyfriend is the high-roller.”

“Well,” Liam shifts in his seat, irritated that Louis has backed him into a corner where he can’t refer to himself as a high-roller without looking like a twat. “I do alright for myself.”

Louis is snickering. “Between the two of them, Jay-Z and Beyoncé, who do you reckon pulls in more money?”

“It doesn’t matter,” Liam cries, because of course Louis wouldn’t understand this concept. “Now that they’re married, everything they bring in belongs to both of them.”

Louis’ eyes flicker again with a silvery edge, both a little bit more serious and little bit more teasing. “You’re not married yet, though, are you? You and your boyfriend.”

“Oh, for Christ’s sake, do you want me to provide you with a tax form so that you can see exactly how much Harry and I earn individually? Would that shut you up?”

Louis smiles with those shark-like teeth, and the sight has Liam reaching for the door handle again. “I’m merely trying to ascertain your thoughts on the Knowles-Carter marriage!” Louis calls as Liam steps back outside.

Liam stands with the car door open for a moment, taking in Louis and his sharp smile. He almost has to admire Louis’ ability to say one thing and mean another. He really does, because he doesn’t think he could do it.

“I am Jay-Z,” Liam says. “I’m the Jay-Z of my relationship, and that’s all you need to know.” And then he slams the car door.

The sheep are slowly making their way to the other side of the road with its fresh grass and low marshland. Liam paces up and down the road behind the car as he waits for them to move along. He’s been waiting for so long now, he’s almost forgotten the reason that he’s so anxious to get a move on. His stomach is in knots as he thinks about irritating people, their irritating questions, and their irritating pointy teeth. The daylight is fading, and it’s only when Liam checks his watch that he remembers, with a jolt, that he’s trying to reach Dublin because of Harry. It’s the twenty-sixth of February and he’s trying to reach Harry. Right.

The sheep are well and truly on their way now, and Liam practically falls over himself as he climbs back into the car. Louis is curled up against the window on his side, his eyes closed. Liam shakes him.

“Let’s go!” he yells. “The sheep are gone, let’s go!”

“What?” Louis asks, grimacing and stretching his legs out. “What’s happening?”

“The road is clear,” Liam explains, trying to be patient. “We can go to Dublin now.”

Louis sits up, turns the engine on, and checks the clock that flashes the time as the little car roars to life. Liam buckles his seatbelt, and picks up the roadmap from where he had let it slide to the floor earlier.

“Yeah, about that…” Louis starts. Liam turns to look at him very slowly so that Louis can absorb the full impact of his disbelief. “Look, it’s getting dark out already,” Louis explains in a reasonable tone of voice, ignoring Liam’s mounting silent fury. “By the time we make it to Dublin at this rate, it will be quite late. I’ll have to find a room for myself somewhere, and I really can’t afford that.”

“I’ll pay!” Liam shouts. “Anywhere you want, I’ll pay!”

“Yes, I thought you might offer.”

“You think you’re so clever, but actually you’re just being a dick about money. You have been this whole day.”

“You started it,” Louis asserts with a smirk. “Throwing your money around from the beginning, like that would guarantee you a smooth trip to Dublin. Look how well that’s worked out for you.” Liam flexes his hand, and he’s not a violent person, but he could honestly smack Louis then. “Anyway,” Louis breezes on, and Liam sits on his hand. “It’s not that I want to prolong this little trip, as thrilling as your company is. It’s just that I think we should look for a b&b now, turn in for the night, and then get an early start tomorrow. You’ll be in Dublin by noon, and I can drive back home and reach The Lake Isle by nightfall.”

Liam is silent for a long moment. “We’ll have to get two rooms,” he says, eventually.

“Of course,” Louis says in a honey-sweet voice. “You’ll be able to afford that, won’t you, Jay-Z?”

 

An hour later and plenty of arguing about which way the map is supposed to be read (“I can’t understand any of these Irish place names.” “The map is written in English, it’s just that you’re holding it upside down!”), Liam and Louis finally pull into the drive at a small b&b just down the road from a petrol station. It’s dark in earnest now, and Liam has to wonder at how the sun can set so quickly, leaving everything in the cold confusion of darkness without much warning.

Luckily Liam is able to book two separate rooms, one for himself and one for Louis.

“The rooms are directly across the hall from each other,” the woman at the desk tells Liam. “That’s as close as I can get you two.”

“Are you sure you couldn’t find anything further away?” Liam asks. “Rooms on different floors, perhaps?”

The woman shoots him an odd look and doesn’t answer him, so he and Louis make their way upstairs—Liam carrying his suitcase by himself—and go their separate ways in the hallway.

After supper, Liam escapes to use the telephone.

“Where in the world are you?” Harry cries when he hears Liam’s voice. “I hate to ask you this, but I have to: are you sure you’re actually in Ireland?”

“I know my geography has never been great,” Liam admits. “But, judging from the number of sheep I’ve seen today, I’m definitely stuck in the Irish countryside.”

Harry cackles down the line as Liam explains the events of the day, and Liam doesn’t even mind Harry laughing at his trials and tribulations because it’s a great laugh to listen to. And everything does seem a bit funny in retrospect.

“Do you need me to send a helicopter down to pick you up?” Harry asks when Liam is finished. “Unexpected herds of sheep wouldn’t be a problem in the sky.”

“Nah, we’re driving up tomorrow. Besides, you haven’t got a helicopter. Wait, have you?”

“It’s not mine.” Harry’s giggling again. “But Ben’s parents have one. He’s here now, actually. I told him you came over, and so he flew over too. We wanted to make it a big party. Though, of course, you’re not really here yet.”

“No,” Liam says, and doesn’t really listen as Harry explains all about Ben and Nick and Caroline. He had flown over to be with Harry, not with Harry’s friends. Liam runs his hand along his jaw, and resigns himself to the fact that it’s all a moot point, as he’s not even with Harry himself yet.

“Who is this guy you’re traveling with anyway?” Liam tunes back in to hear Harry asking this. He sits bolt upright, snapping to attention.

“His name’s Louis,” he answers, his voice going tight. “He’s an alright driver, I suppose. Total lunatic though. As long as we arrive in Dublin in one piece—which is not guaranteed—it will be alright.”

“Huh,” Harry muses. “You know, I’m actually kind of jealous. You’re off having an Irish adventure without me.”

Liam almost feels like crying, but he laughs instead. “You would think this sounds like an adventure.”

 

Back in his cozy room for one (for the second night in a row) Liam feels a sense of relief to find himself alone in pure silence. He stretches out on his bed, basking in it. He unhooks his watch and sets it on the nightstand, letting his wrist feel free of the weight.

However, the friendly silence starts to play tricks on Liam. He remembers Louis’ silence, how impenetrable it is, and thinks that this isn’t so different from sitting in the car, because Louis just across the hall now, but still unreachable. 

Liam starts to hear Louis’ voice in his own head: _I think tradition is limiting. It locks you in. It can burn you_. It plays on a loop in Liam’s head like a recording, and he starts to wish that Louis were actually talking with him right now in the room. It would make him feel less like he’s going out of his mind. And Liam’s breath hitches, because that’s an odd thought, that Louis’ presence would make him feel more at ease. He shakes his head at himself, rolls off the bed, and begins pacing around the room.

There’s a wooden shelf in the corner of the room with a small stack of books and a larger pile of old magazines. It’s an assortment of British Vogues, but there’s a random Vanity Fair thrown in the bunch, maybe left behind a long time ago by an American traveler. Al Pacino glowers out from the cover, and Liam has to smile, remembering the argument over _The Godfather_ from earlier.

He considers the magazine cover for a couple minutes longer before opening the door to his room, striding across the hall, and knocking on Louis’ door.

After a moment, Louis pulls his door open and Liam is surprised to see him wearing only a pair of black boxer briefs and a plain white tee. He has a slightly rumpled appearance, as though he’d already climbed into bed. Liam takes a step back, trying not to look at Louis’ bare legs. Or his collarbones, peeking out from underneath his scoop neck tee in just the same way his teeth peek out from his smile.

“Er, hi,” Liam says, addressing the ceiling rather than Louis.

“What’s wrong?” Louis asks.

“Nothing’s wrong,” Liam says in surprise.

“Then why in God’s name are you at my door right now?”

“Oh,” Liam tries to remember why he’s here. He’d forgotten how biting Louis can be in person. It’s overwhelming, but Liam isn’t ready to go back to his own room just yet. “I remembered something about _The Godfather_.”

“Oh, for fuck’s sake! That’s what this is about?” Louis begins closing his door. “I’ll see you in the morning, Liam.”

“Hang on, Louis! Tommo!”

This has the desired effect, as Louis stops, and then throws the door wide open. “What did you call me?”

“Tommo, er, it’s what Niall calls you? He told me.”

“That’s right, it’s what Niall calls me. Don’t try to be Niall,” Louis says in a crazed voice.

Liam can’t tell what Louis means, or what’s setting him off. But instead of backing away from Louis, he steps forward, and holds his hands out, nearly touching Louis’ arms. “I’m sorry, of course I could never—”

Louis doesn’t move away. He lets Liam come nearer, but keeps talking. “You can’t be what Niall is to me,” he says in a desperate voice, and it’s such a strange thing to say, that Liam steps forward again.

They’re so close now, Liam can smell mint. Louis must have hunted down some toothpaste and cleaned his teeth. Maybe he really had been ready for bed when Liam knocked. He’d been driving all day. Maybe he really is tired.

“I could never try to be what Niall is to you,” Liam agrees in a gentle voice. “You and I, we’re not—”

“Exactly,” Louis cuts in, an emotion twisting on his face. Even though they’re so close, Liam can’t read what it is. For the first time it occurs to him that this is because Louis doesn’t want him to. “We’re not.” Liam is surprised that he doesn’t detect any of Louis’ usual attitude in that last pronouncement. It sounds more resigned than anything. Louis really must be tired.

“This is the most ridiculous conversation I’ve ever had,” Liam laughs. “And I’ve had a lot of those today. I came over to tell you something, but now I can’t remember what it is.” Liam chances a small grin. “You’ve distracted me.”

Louis contemplates him as though trying to figure out Liam’s game once and for all. Liam takes this as a small victory, but only a small one because he’s still feeling struck with the inexplicable urge to stay physically close to Louis, as though the distance between them is very important. Liam isn’t sure why this should be, or for whom any of this counts as a victory. Maybe for neither of them.

Finally Louis shakes his head. “Sure, knock on my door, get me out of bed, and blame me for it. That makes sense.”

“It’s the truth.”

“Goodnight, Liam.” Louis says, and flashes him half of a crooked smile. And, for some reason, Liam is glad to see it.

Louis’ door closes with a quiet clicking noise.

“Goodnight, Louis,” Liam says to the silent hallway.

+

{The Twenty-Seventh of February}

The next morning it’s Louis’ turn to knock on Liam’s door. He barrels in, full of his usual energy again as Liam is still blinking the sleep out of his eyes.

“Can I borrow a clean pair of pants, mate?” Louis asks. “Don’t worry, I’ll return them.”

“That won’t be necessary,” Liam assures him, rummaging around in his suitcase and tossing Louis a clean pair.

“Well, I would wash them first. What do you take me for, a complete heathen?”

“Yes.”

Louis smiles with all his teeth as though that was the answer he had been hoping for.

Liam settles the bill for the rooms and, as he turns away from the desk to grab his suitcase, he finds himself face-to-face with Louis, who utters a quiet, “Thank you” before walking out the door. Liam is almost surprised to find himself thinking, _You’re welcome_.

The two of them pile into the shaky Clio again and set off towards Dublin.

“I won’t argue with you about _The Godfather_ anymore,” Liam announces.

“I can only assume that’s because you realized sometime during the night how wrong your opinions have been all this time. Fredo reciting the Hail Mary in the boat, come on! It’s iconic.”

“Actually, it’s because I realized how useless it is to argue with someone so hellbent on being wrong all the time.”

 

The two of them argue cheerfully for close to an hour. The lush green Irish countryside rolls by out the window at a satisfying pace, the sun peeks out from behind a cluster of grey clouds, and Liam smiles to himself, feeling genuinely happy and comfortable for the first time in a few days.

That is until he feels the car slowing down and he snaps his head up to look at the road ahead. “No,” he says in a firm voice. He hears Louis sigh next to him. “No,” he repeats.

“Liam, I have to stop.”

“We can’t. This can’t!” Liam rakes a hand through his short hair, and tries to remember how to speak properly through his anger. “We cannot stop for every single herd of wild sheep or cattle or fucking flock of geese who decide to cross the road.”

Louis looks at him, trying to keep his face serious, but Liam sees the corner of his mouth twitching, wanting to break into a smile. “At least it’s cows this time. Something different.”

Liam huffs and turns to stare out the windshield again. It’s a herd of cattle. There must be about twenty cows, the most Liam has ever seen at once. The thing about cows, especially when compared to sheep, is that they’re actually kind of massive. The group amble around in front of the car, and a couple of cows break away from the group to roam closer to the car, dwarfing the Clio. It really could be dangerous to try to drive or move anywhere given these circumstances, and this sets Liam off even more than usual.

Liam opens the car door before he’s even unbuckled his seatbelt. He stumbles out onto the road in a daze, hardly able to see for the mass of black and brown-spotted cows in front of him.

“Liam!” Louis calls, rolling down his window. “Please get back in the car!” There’s an edge to his voice that wasn’t there yesterday.

“I’m busy!” Liam calls over his shoulder. “I’m getting rid of the cows!”

He has no idea how exactly one goes about herding cows, but he hopes it can be done.

“Come on, nice cows,” Liam coaxes. “Let’s all cross the road, please.” He waves his arms around, and tries to direct the group in the proper direction.

The other thing about cows is that they don’t seem to care what humans think.

“Come on!” And Liam is shouting this time. “Let’s go, we have to go now!” A couple of the cows flick their tails.

Liam feels pressure at the small of his back, and flinches, afraid that it’s one of the cows. He turns around to see that it’s Louis, and he doesn’t know if that’s better or worse.

“You need to get back in the car now, Liam,” he explains speaking very slowly. “You’re behaving a bit irrationally. Please get back in the car.”

“I’m behaving irrationally? I wonder why that could be!” Liam erupts. “Possibly because I’m supposed to be on a schedule, but my plans have fallen through at every single turn. I even put up with your unnecessary plan to find a b&b last night. I could literally be in Dublin right now if not for that little stop, and now it’s going to take even longer, and I just… Cows are not part of the schedule!”

“Okay,” Louis says in a quiet voice, as though Liam is the wild animal to be dealt with here. “I think your shouting is scaring the cows.” Louis takes Liam by the hand. “We’ll get back in the car, we’ll remember how to breathe, and we won’t scare the animals.”

“Oh, I’m so sorry I’m scaring the cows!” Liam shouts sarcastically. “You know, someone else should feel as upset as I do.”

Louis merely shakes his head, and this enrages Liam even more. Louis isn’t taking him seriously. Louis is leading him by the hand. Louis is always touching him and Liam hasn’t stopped it yet. Liam yanks his hand out of Louis’ grip.

Louis whips around in surprise. This time, when he makes a darting movement with his hand, Liam is quick enough to match him. He smacks both of Louis’ hands away before he can get to Liam’s nipples.

“I am getting rid of these cows!” Liam yells, and he knows that Louis is right, that he sounds irrational—mental, even. But he’s beyond caring about anything.

“You know what, fine! Good fucking luck,” Louis spits. His eyes are stormy, and he sounds truly mean for the first time. “I’d like to see you when a real problem crops up.”

“This is a real problem.” Liam gestures to the surrounding cows for emphasis.

“No, I’m not talking about a bullshit plan to propose on Leap Day because of some absurd tradition that no one follows. I’m talking about people leaving you, things falling apart, illness, death. That’s real life. And I don’t know if you could cope. I imagine you’d panic and shut down, just like that bloody iPhone of yours.”

Liam doesn’t think about it. His vision goes narrow, until all he can see is Louis in front of him, eyes dark and roiling like a dangerous tide crashing in, telling him he knows nothing about real life. Louis is stumbling backwards and falling to the ground before Liam realizes what he’s done. The problem is, that Liam is strong, but Louis is solid. Liam had pushed him—hard—but Louis had given off resistance without even seeming to try, and Liam finds himself stumbling backwards, too.

Liam and Louis fall away from each other like a violent magnetic rejection, opposites returning to their separate poles.

Liam catches himself on the hood of the car, but he sees that Louis isn’t so lucky. He’s fallen among the group of cattle. He forgets to be angry, as all he can see is Louis on the ground surrounded by heavy black hooves. Liam feels winded, but he uses the car for leverage and pushes himself to his feet.

“Louis!” He runs over and crouches on the ground over top of Louis. “Are you alright?” Louis is sat motionless, staring beyond Liam with a frozen expression. Liam puts a hand under Louis’ armpits, and hauls him to his feet. “Louis! Shit!”

“Liam.”

“That could’ve been really dangerous, I’m so sorry.”

“Liam,” Louis repeats, still staring at a point beyond him.

“What?”

“Turn around.”

Liam doesn’t know what to expect when he turns around, but the sight of the Clio rolling backwards down the road of its own accord is not it.

The two of them take off running after the car at the same time.

“Didn’t you put on the emergency brake?” Liam yells.

“No, didn’t think I’d need it, did I?”

Liam reaches for one of the door handles. He’s able to get a grip around it, but the car has picked up speed, it’s moving too fast now and Liam is forced to let go. The Clio veers to the left, runs off the side of the road, and lands with a muted kind of splashing noise in the bog land below.

Liam and Louis stop at the edge of the road and survey the view below. It’s possible to see the car sinking a few inches down into the murky bog.

“How did this happen?” Liam asks, in shock.

“What do you mean?” Louis rounds on him. “It was you!”

“What?”

“I saw you, I saw the whole thing. You pushed off of the car, and it started rolling backwards.”

Liam stares in horror. “I couldn’t have done that.”

Louis crosses his arms. “If you’re strong enough to push my car off the road, you should be strong enough to haul it out of that bog!”

“You really have a hilarious sense of humor,” Liam says, rolling his eyes. “No way. Although we do need to do something. Maybe we can round up those cows somehow…” Liam looks around and sees that the cows have started ambling up the road, some of them even starting to climb back up the hillside from where they’d come down. “Fantastic!” Liam shouts. “Of course they choose now to leave, when we can’t actually go anywhere.”

“Looks like you finally scared them off—”

“I didn’t want to scare them!”

“—With all your pushing and shoving and shouting.”

“I really am sorry. I mean it.”

“I know you’re sorry. I know you mean it. You always do mean it. Unfortunately, it doesn’t fix anything.”

“And you never mean it!” Liam shouts. “Like that helps. So which is better?”

“Neither,” Louis says in a defeated voice, scuffing his toe in the dust at the edge of the road. “Neither way is better or worse, and, more importantly, absolutely none of it helps.”

For some reason, Liam doesn’t like hearing that tone of voice from Louis. It’s the tone that sinks a hook into his skin, reeling him inexorably toward Louis on a line. It’s the one that makes him want to crowd into Louis on the threshold of a dimly lit doorway until he smiles again. But Liam had pushed Louis away, physically separating the two of them. He doesn’t know how to undo that just yet. Liam looks back toward the little Clio’s sad fate, thinking that a good place to start would be trying to fix this situation.

He checks his watch, and suddenly his train of thought shifts. “Shit, my suitcase!” Liam cries, remembering his possessions, and the little blue box that’s stashed away among his socks and pants. He looks to Louis, who rolls his eyes, and Liam realizes he should’ve known better than to expect Louis to help with baggage.

About fifteen minutes later, Liam stumbles back up onto the road with his suitcase in tow. Louis is standing at the other side of the road, and Liam is glad to see him—he had half expected Louis to start walking and not look back. But no, Louis is standing with his legs crossed at the ankles, his peacoat hanging off his frame, casually unbuttoned, like his car hasn’t just careened over the side of the road, like it’s any normal day.

Meanwhile, Liam is sweating underneath his trench coat, and his shoes are wet and covered in a nasty-looking film from the bog. He opens his suitcase on the side of the road and roots around for a new pair. His black Italian leather dress shoes are the only other pair he’d brought, so he doesn’t have a choice. Liam hears Louis snickering at him from all the way on the other side of the road. He heaves a sigh, digs around in his coat pocket, fishes out Louis’ car keys, which he had thought to grab from the Clio. He tosses them across the way, and he thinks it’s very decent of him not to aim for Louis’ head.

Louis stops snickering out of surprise, but he manages to catch them. “Thanks!” He calls, and then he sets off walking.

“Where are you going?” Liam yells, zipping up his suitcase.

“We ought to look for a train station,” Louis calls over his shoulder. “Hey, you didn’t happen to grab any maps from the car along with my keys, did you?” Liam takes a step and then stops as he realizes that, no, he hadn’t thought to do that. Louis can tell what the answer is and waves his hand. “Nevermind! And don’t you dare go back down there,” he says, as though he can read Liam’s mind. “We can’t have you ruining your good shoes.”

Liam laughs, after everything, he can’t help it. And he thinks he spies the glimmer of a smile from the other side of the road.

 

Louis and Liam walk for some time, both on opposite sides of the road, occasionally glancing across to each other. Liam can see for miles around them, flat green pastures mixed with mountains so high the tips graze the clouds. He wonders if he could see Dublin, if he looked hard enough.

“Er—” Louis begins speaking from across the road. “I think that mountain coming up here is quite famous. Croagh Patrick. It’s a national landmark. Niall has a poster of it.” There’s an edge to his voice.

“So?” Liam asks. “Just spit it out, what are you getting at?”

“Well, the thing is, Croagh Patrick is in County Mayo. We’re in west country.”

Liam stops walking. “County Dublin!” he shouts, stomping his foot. “City Dublin! How difficult can it possibly be?” He shakes a finger at Louis. “I knew going to that b&b last night would get us off track.”

“And yet you agreed to stop.” Louis has no sympathy for him. “Anyway, you were the one who left the maps in the car,” he adds with a smirk.

A question has been nagging at Liam. “I’m sorry,” he calls to Louis. “But don’t you have any kind of phone with you? Obviously a smart phone with GPS would be ideal. But even a flip phone from 2003 would be helpful right now.”

“Don’t have a mobile phone.” Louis shrugs.

“But… What do you do?”

“You saw the landline telephones at The Lake Isle. And Niall has an iPhone I borrow sometimes.”

“So, you agreed to drive me to Dublin knowing that my phone is dead and that you don’t have one?”

“Sorry, I didn’t realize that you’re an insane person who pushes cars off the road. Next time I’ll be sure to check if my passenger anticipates a similar type of emergency.”

“Why don’t you have a phone?” Liam asks, pressing on because he has the feeling that this line of questioning is one way to the heart of Louis’ problem.

“People were calling. One person in particular. I didn’t want to speak to them,” Louis answers evasively.

“You could’ve just changed your number.”

“Could’ve done, yeah,” Louis agrees. “But I didn’t want to be contacted at all. Not then. Now…” Louis waves a hand indicating the empty road ahead. “I agree, a goddamned flip phone would be pretty fucking useful.” With that, Louis turns and continues walking along the road, and Liam knows the topic is now closed for discussion.

 

Liam has no choice but to soldier on—Louis still walking on the opposite side of the road, in heavy silence now—certain that there must be signs of civilization somewhere in the west country of Ireland. The landscape around him begins to shift as the bog land melts away, and the ground levels out at the same height as the road.

Then Liam notices something promising. He speeds up and calls over his shoulder to Louis, “I expect we’ll find the train station soon!”

“You think so, Sherlock?”

Liam points to the iron track that has snaked over to run parallel with the road. “Train tracks.”

The train station, a small brick building, comes into view around the bend. No trains have come along the tracks so far, but that doesn’t deter Liam from practically running to the building. Louis crosses the road and follows at a slower pace.

The train station is empty inside save for one older gentleman wearing a conductor’s cap. He’s slouching on a bench reading a newspaper, but stands up when he notices Liam crashing through the door. He has a wiry frame and sharp eyes that could rival Louis’ (who follows Liam inside a moment later).

“Dublin,” Liam chokes out. “Sorry, sir, I need a train to Dublin.”

“You’re in luck,” the old man tells Liam with a smile. “The next train to Dublin leaves at four pm.”

Liam checks his watch. “Oh, it’s only two pm now.”

“Exactly,” the man says. “You have plenty of time.”

Liam isn’t sure whether or not the man is joking, and he can’t think what to do next. He feels Louis’ hand on his shoulder giving a pointed squeeze. “Excellent,” he says in a loud voice. “We’ll take two tickets to Dublin, please.”

“Of course, of course! Two tickets to Dublin, then.” The man shuffles around, opening a door, and walking around to the ticket counter.

Liam looks at Louis. “Two?” he asks under his breath.

“I said I would get you to Dublin,” Louis answers, sliding his hand off of Liam’s shoulder as though he’s only just realized he was still touching Liam. “Besides, even if you get on that train, with your luck, it’s not guaranteed you’ll wind up in Dublin.” Liam has to laugh because it’s true. “Now pay the nice man,” Louis instructs, and Liam does.

There’s a vending machine in the corner, and Louis and Liam count out all the change they have between them and practically buy out the machine for a makeshift lunch. They sit outside on a small bench on the platform, sharing bottles of Lucozade, sandwiches, and Dairy Milk bars. 

Louis keeps looking over beyond Liam. Finally he says, “Yup, that’s definitely Croagh Patrick. There’s supposed to be a little church with a shrine at the top. We should climb up the hill and see.”

“Louis, that’s a mountain, not a hill.”

“Yes, yes, come on, it’ll be fun! People make pilgrimages up there all the time.”

“Why do they make pilgrimages here?”

Louis shrugs. “It’s named after the Patron Saint of Ireland. Isn’t that reason enough? Come on, we’ll just run up and see, and then run back down. Maybe we’ll witness an Irish miracle or something.”

“I don’t know…” Liam trails off, hoping it’s enough to mean no.

“Fine,” Louis cries, jumping to his feet. “Sit here by yourself like a lump for the next hour and a half, while I have some fun.”

Louis stalks away from the platform and Liam heaves a sigh. He’s already sweaty and tired, but it is a bit boring waiting for the train. Louis doesn’t look over his shoulder to check if Liam is following, and Liam tosses his Lucozade bottle into the bin with a little more force than necessary because he knows he is going to follow in Louis’ footsteps.

Liam catches up, and Louis flashes him a grin. “Knew you were game for an adventure.”

“Any adventure, as long as we catch the train at four,” Liam insists.

Louis doesn’t look so much like a shark to Liam anymore, as he smiles this time. Or maybe Liam likes it now, doesn’t mind being bitten by a shark, thinks that maybe he already has been.

There’s a worn dusty footpath, so the walk up the mountainside is more gentle than anything else. Still, it’s a long way up, and Liam is embarrassed to discover himself running out of breath, especially with the high altitude.

Louis looks back at him with a vague look of concern. “Alright?”

“Yeah. A bit different from a normal day at the office for me, that’s all.”

“Yes,” Louis cackles. “A bit different from fielding phone calls from Rihanna and Coldplay, I expect.”

“Their assistants would be the ones making the phone calls.”

“My mistake.”

“Besides, I’m just an assistant myself. I don’t make any of the real decisions. Yet.”

Louis turns all the way around and walks backwards so that he can look at Liam. “You’re a what?”

“An assistant.”

“A secretary, you mean.”

“No,” Liam can feel his face turning red, and not from the physical exertion. “I do not mean that. Do you know LA Reid? I work in his New York office. I’m _first_ assistant.” But Louis is laughing too hard to listen properly. “Careful,” Liam sneers. “You’ll fall and I don’t think Saint Patrick makes appearances to idiots who have fallen on their arses.”

“It’s too hilarious,” Louis gasps out, ignoring him. He points at Liam, his eyes narrowed. “You purposefully let me believe you were some kind of high-powered agent working directly with Kanye. Meanwhile, you fetch coffee for LA Reid!”

“I don’t fetch coffee, I’m not an intern,” Liam grumbles.

They’re nearly at the top now, and it’s one of those mountains that ascend into the clouds, a white mist starting to drift and curl around Liam and Louis.

Louis takes a few more steps and then stops walking all together. “I see now, I see how it works,” he says to Liam. “You sit in your posh Manhattan office all day, and then go home to what I’m sure is your posh Manhattan apartment with your posh boyfriend. It’s no wonder you’re so outraged that something as rustic as a herd of sheep would interfere with your grandiose engagement plans. You’ve so clearly never had to deal with anything like that before. You tried to throw your weight around with your money and your impressive job, but it’s all just a joke, really. I have to hand it to you, Liam.” Louis’ laugh is mirthless now. “You’re amazing. Amazingly full of shit.”

Liam and Louis are completely enveloped by the clouds now. Liam doesn’t see any sort of church up here, no ruins, no holy light signifying the Patron Saint of Ireland. All he can see is Louis looming in front of him, firmly standing his ground as though Liam might push him again. He steps closer to Louis so that they’re level, and he’s not above considering physical violence again. Pushing someone around is a bit of a different ballgame when standing atop a mountain, though. And Saint Patrick might not approve of fighting on his territory. Standing this way, it’s obvious that Liam is a little bit taller. So instead of pushing and shoving, he actually looks down his nose at Louis and lets himself enjoy a moment of feeling very superior.

“What about you, then?” Liam growls out. “What happened in your life to make you so fucking terrified of the very idea of proposing marriage to someone you love? You recoil every time I mention it, and I know it isn’t to do with me because you don’t even know me, or Harry. It’s all you, Louis. And I feel really sorry for you that you can’t even think about love or romance without having an allergic reaction. Not to mention your obsession with my perceived wealth, like your idea of love is all tied up with money. Don’t you ever get bored of disliking people just because they’re happy?”

“I don’t think that you’re happy, Liam,” Louis whispers.

It’s deadly quiet up among the clouds, and Louis’ statement rings out like a gunshot atop Croagh Patrick. Liam notices that familiar emotion twisting on Louis’ face again now, his eyes alive with it. And Liam realizes that it must be pain. It’s an emotional hurt of some kind.

He knows by now that Louis prefers to compartmentalize his emotions, likes to alternate between silence and loud outbursts. Liam is standing close to Louis again, he’s already been drawn in. Now it’s Louis’ turn. But instead of drawing him in, Liam wants to draw him outward, wants to let Louis know that he won’t bite at a visible slice of vulnerability. After all, Liam isn’t the shark.

“You’re not happy either.”

Liam half expects Louis to shove him this time and he holds his breath, bracing himself. But Louis breathes out, and it’s like a weight being lifted from him. Liam can see it, his breath turning to a mist that melts into the atmosphere. Louis’ shoulders relax, as though he’d been waiting to release that breath for a long time.

“I was engaged once,” Louis states simply, but the tension in his jaw belies his easy tone. He looks at his left hand, and then holds it up for Liam to see. Even through the fog of the clouds, Liam knows there’s no metallic glint that would indicate a ring. “Didn’t work out, obviously. It’s been nearly a year now.”

Liam stands there, dumbstruck. Louis gives one of his laughs that mean he doesn’t think anything is particularly funny and turns away. Liam is thinking back to the framed photograph he had seen, to the man Louis had been so happy just to be with. He hadn’t thought to check for a ring on Louis’ hand in the picture, but he thinks that maybe he should have guessed the root of Louis’ personal problem.

Louis is walking away from him now, receding into the mist and Liam doesn’t want to see that. He wants to keep Louis close. Liam wants to keep Louis talking, until he can untangle the knot of emotional tension that Louis keeps to himself.

Liam walks over to Louis, who still has his back turned. Thus far, it’s been Louis purposefully reaching out to touch Liam. Now, Liam reaches out and runs his fingertips along one of Louis’ shoulders, feeling the lightness there now that some of his tension has dissipated. Louis doesn’t flinch.

“Is that what Niall did for you?” Liam asks. “Is that when he helped you?”

Louis turns halfway, not quite looking at Liam. The corner of his mouth turns up at the mention of Niall.

“Yes. I was a wreck in a lot of ways. Niall helped me get my shit together. He’s good at that.”

“So now you work for him?”

“With. I work with him,” Louis clarifies with a little grin. And that grin is how Liam knows that they’re going to be okay, that neither of them will try to push the other off the mountain. “The good old Lake Isle.” Louis pronounces the name wistfully.

“I’ve been meaning to ask, The Lake Isle sounds familiar. What is it from?”

“It’s a poem,” Louis answers, turning to face Liam full-on now, and Liam drops his hand from Louis’ shoulder. “ _The Lake Isle of Innisfree_. It’s a Yeats poem.”

“Hang on, I wouldn’t have taken Niall for much of a poetry enthusiast.”

“I wouldn’t say he’s a poetry enthusiast, so much as an Irish poetry enthusiast. An Irish everything enthusiast. Quite the patriot, that one.” Louis gives a little chuckle here, apparently thinking about Niall’s love for Ireland. “Actually, his older brother, Greg, is technically the owner of the pub. He’s the one who signs my paychecks. That’s how I’m paying back Niall. He bought the pub and helped refurbish it, writing the lines of poetry on the woodwork and such.”

“Yes, I’d noticed the verses. I knew it sounded familiar. Yeats, I should have known.”

Liam wants to ask more, wants to know about paying Niall back, about what Louis could possibly owe, but a distant whistling noise cuts through the fog, interrupting his thoughts. The noise grows louder and more insistent with each passing second.

“Liam!” Louis smacks him on the arm. “What time is it? Look at your watch, what time is it?”

Liam is pretty sure his stomach has sunk so low that it’s not even part of his body anymore. “It’s ten after four,” he says in a voice that doesn’t sound like his own.

“Come on!” Louis hollers. “Maybe that nice man will hold the train for us.”

The two of them stumble out of the clouds and back down the footpath in a mad dash. It’s surreal seeing the clouds part as the land below comes into view, and Liam realizes that it’s raining. It’s another moment before he registers that his clothes are already damp all over because the cloud had been full of moisture. The rain soaking his clothes through even more isn’t a problem; the difficult part is that the pathway is now slippery with mud, and Liam’s dress shoes have no traction. He knows he’s going to fall; it’s only a question of when.

When it does happen—when Liam’s foot hits a too-slick patch of mud—the last thing he does before releasing control is to make sure to reach for Louis. Liam and Louis fall for the second time that day, and this time it’s painful and it’s a mess, but they fall together.

They land in a heap at the bottom of the mountain, soaked to the bone and covered in mud, just in time to see the train pulling away.

“Fuck!” Louis shouts, struggling to stand up. He actually sounds disappointed. “I can’t believe we missed it.”

“Seriously?” Liam offers Louis a hand to pull him to his feet. “You can’t believe it? Come on, it’ll be fun!” He imitates Louis’ voice. “We’ll just run up a mountain real quick! No big deal!” Liam rolls his eyes. “Of course we fucking missed the train.”

Liam is more annoyed with himself than with Louis. Deep down he had known as soon as he followed Louis over to Croagh Patrick that they would miss it.

“I honestly didn’t think it would take that long, I’m sorry.” Louis’s apology actually sounds genuine. “If only you weren’t wearing those horrible nice shoes of yours—”

“Which are now ruined. That’s two pairs of shoes today.”

“—We wouldn’t have fallen down the hill.”

“The mountain. We wouldn’t have fallen down the mountain.”

“There you are!” an Irish accent shouts at them as the little old man, still wearing his conductor’s cap, comes into view. “I’m sorry I couldn’t hold the train for you, I didn’t know where you’d gone to. Aren’t you a sight for sore eyes? And already arguing like an old married couple. But you must be quite recently married, eh? So young, both of you.”

The old man gives a hearty laugh as he surveys the sad state of Liam and Louis, the ridiculousness of their appearances no doubt exacerbated by the shocked looks on their faces. Liam tries to step forward, but he finds he can’t move his feet. He opens his mouth to set this obviously senile old man right, but can’t even begin to articulate how not married to Louis he is. Louis is similarly speechless, his mouth wordlessly opening and closing, a sight which Liam would usually find highly amusing, but only makes the current situation more of a nightmare.

“Not as young as I once was. I’ve aged years and years in the past few minutes alone,” Louis finally manages to say, forcing a tepid smile.

“Nonsense!” The man cries, waving his hand. “You just need to get cleaned up, and you’ll feel good as new. I was hoping I’d be able to find you two after the train left. My wife and I run a b&b, you see. We’d be happy to have you for the night.” Disappointment must be registering on Liam’s face because the man smiles kindly at him as he adds, “I’m afraid there aren’t any more trains to Dublin today. It’s the weekend.”

In New York there would be _more_ trains running at the weekend, Liam thinks bitterly. “Hang on,” he realizes. “Is it the weekend already?”

“It’s Saturday,” Louis hisses. “I thought you would’ve been aware of that, what with your all-important schedule.”

“I’m a little distracted at the moment, if you couldn’t tell,” Liam hisses back.

“Yes, Saturday. No problem lads, come along.” The old man beckons them to follow after him. “Er,” he turns back around for a moment. “You are married, aren’t you? Only my wife, Colleen, she’s a little, well, traditional. I can see you two have…” he looks between Liam and Louis, “a modern relationship. But I’m sure Colleen will be fine as long as you’re married.”

“Yes,” Liam is surprised to find himself saying. “We’re married.”

He feels like he’s wearing a mud mask that’s dried too quickly (Harry and Zayn both use face masks, and Liam has sampled a couple) and if pretending to be married to Louis is the quickest way to a hot shower, then Liam is going to take it.

“Brilliant,” the man says. “My name’s Darren, by the way. Colleen and I will be happy to have you.”

Louis plasters a smile across his face. “Cheers, Darren.” But he turns to look at Liam with a worried question in his eye, an _are you sure_? In response, Liam elbows him in the ribs, which elicits a real grin from Louis.

Darren and Colleen’s bed and breakfast looks like a postcard, a white building with a thatched roof and a little garden around the side. Liam and Louis stumble in, Liam with his suitcase in tow, and try not to track mud everywhere.

Darren tries to introduce them, rather ineffectually, “Darling, this is Mr. and Mr. …actually, I’m not sure what the surname is?”

Louis answers, “We’re the Tomlinson-Paynes” at the exact same time that Liam says, “Payne-Tomlinson.”

“Sorry,” Liam apologizes. “We haven’t yet worked out which name goes first.”

“Excuse me,” Louis hisses out of the corner of his mouth. “We have settled it. It’s obviously Tomlinson-Payne.”

“I’ll just mark you down as the Tomlinson-Paynes then, shall I?” Colleen says, looking between them with a confused but kind expression. Louis beams at Liam. Liam stomps on Louis’ foot. “You two are lucky, the nice room overlooking the garden is free.” With that, Colleen hands them a gold metal key, and sends them off to get showered and changed before supper.

“They seem a bit confused, dear.” Liam can hear Colleen saying to Darren. “Was everything alright at the station?”

“Everything’s grand, they’re just disappointed they missed their train,” Darren assures. “Such newlyweds. You can tell. It’s awfully sweet, really.”

Liam looks at Louis, who is already looking at him with raised eyebrows and mile-wide grin spreading across his face. They each clap a hand over each other’s mouths, and nearly topple down the stairs in an effort not to burst out laughing.

 

As Colleen promised, the room is very nice, with a view of the little green garden below, and more space to move around in than the single rooms Liam has been accustomed to the past couple of nights.

Liam’s focus is on the shower, but Louis’ focus is on the bed.

“There’s only one bed,” he announces.

“What?” Liam asks absently, peering into the, thankfully, en-suite bathroom. “Of course there’s only one bed. They think we’re married.”

“We should flip for it.”

“What are you on about?” Liam is already pulling fresh clothes out of his suitcase to change into.

“Let’s flip a coin to see who gets the bed,” Louis says, as if it’s the most obvious thing.

“Oh, alright,” Liam agrees, mostly to shut Louis up. Louis looks at him expectantly, and Liam realizes that Louis is waiting for him to produce the coin. “You are a ridiculous person,” Liam declares as he roots around for some change.

“Of course I am, but you married me, so that might be more of a reflection on you, mate.”

“Next time I marry, I’ll have to do better,” Liam snarks. “Here,” he tosses an American quarter to Louis. “This is all I can find. You do it.”

“Right. This guy’s face—”

“George Washington.”

“Exactly. George Washington’s face, you get the bed. Funny-looking eagle, I get the bed.”

“Some people just say heads or tails, you know.”

“Yes, I imagine your second spouse will be someone boring like that.”

“Just flip it, for fuck’s sake!”

Liam is eyeing the shower desperately now. There’s a chunk of mud caked uncomfortably along his jaw, and he feels like his face might break in half from it.

“George Washington’s face,” Louis yells. “I get the bed!” and he dives onto the bed, spreading out in the center.

Liam rolls his eyes. “Congratulations,” he calls over his shoulder on his way into the bathroom.

He’s so relieved to be near a shower, he doesn’t bother closing the bathroom door. He steps into the tub, pulls the curtain, strips down, and turns the water on as hot as it will go. Instead of washing right away, he lets the water run over him and steam build up in the bathroom. It’s a contrast to the cool, damp mist at the top of the mountain, where he and Louis had been utterly alone. Maybe that was the reason Louis had wanted to climb Croagh Patrick so badly. Maybe he wanted to find the shrine and confide in Saint Patrick, who would listen, and not judge him. In the end, he had to settle for Liam. Maybe it all worked out anyway, as though Louis had sensed that the clouds over Ireland would shroud his secret.

Now Liam is here, sharing a room with Louis and pretending that they’re recently married. Apparently they’d done a convincing acting job without even trying to, which might be cause for concern. They’re stuck with one bed because that’s what married couples are supposed to have, and Liam has to figure out a spot to sleep for the night.

Suddenly, he turns off the water even though he isn’t finished showering. He reaches for a towel, slings it around his waist, and stomps out into the room. It’s warm and humid from the hot shower, and Louis is taking off his button-down shirt to reveal a plain-white t-shirt.

“Hey!” Liam yells, and Louis looks up in surprise. “You’re in trouble now, I’ve figured out your game. George Washington’s face, _I_ get the bed. How dare you try to swindle me out of a comfortable night’s sleep!”

Liam expects Louis to protest, to put up a fight, but he merely throws back his head and laughs. “It was worth a shot.”

Liam doesn’t know exactly what it is, maybe the steam in the room, maybe the fact that he can see Louis’ collarbones again, or maybe it’s that Liam now knows what Louis looks like when he isn’t fighting, when he’s tilting his head back, exposing a column of skin on his neck, and enjoying himself. Maybe it’s a combination of all of these things, that has Liam striding across the room, dripping water all across the floor, until he has Louis backed up against the wall right next to the window.

Louis raises an eyebrow, but he still isn’t putting up any kind of fight. He lets Liam close in on his space.

“Give me back that quarter,” Liam instructs.

A glow flickers and sparks in Louis’ eyes. “You’re bossy when you’re married.”

“Please give me back that quarter,” Liam amends.

Louis takes the quarter out of his pocket and hands it over to Liam. They’re standing so close, even closer than the other night. The steam in the room is fading now that the shower isn’t running, but there’s a tangible heaviness in the thin slice of air between the two of them. They’re only touching at the fingertips, but Liam feels like it’s more. Louis’ eyes are still alive with a certain fire that Liam hasn’t seen from him before. His eyes are wide with it, burning, honest.

Liam has to look away. “Yes, excellent. Just had to take care of that business,” he babbles. “I’ll finish up my shower now.”

“Oh, you’re not finished?” Louis asks.

“No, I haven’t washed my hair yet.”

“Then there’s something you might want to know,” Louis says, giving an almighty smirk. “The shower curtain is see-through.”

 

After getting cleaned up and dried off, Liam puts on a plain white Oxford button down and a pair of dark wash jeans. Louis looks him up and down, giving him a little approving nod. Liam’s stomach swoops and he tries to stamp out the thrilling thought of his husband checking him out. This is his fake husband, and that’s something entirely different. Or so he tells himself.

Liam loans more clothes to Louis and, while the blue polo shirt is a little big, it still sits nicely on Louis’ shoulders. He turns the collar up because, as he says, “I want to look like the biggest twat possible.” Liam throws a pair of socks at him because, actually, he looks quite nice.

The two of them go downstairs together in time for dinner. There is one other couple also staying at the b&b that night, a husband and wife who make it very clear they’re from Sicily, not Italy. Liam swallows down all of his _Godfather_ quips.

Liam slips into a chair across the table from the Sicilian couple and Louis automatically takes a seat next to him. Darren fixes them both some drinks, while Colleen finishes up in the kitchen and the couple across the table speak loudly to each other in Italian. Liam sits back in his chair, slightly overwhelmed by this cozy yet bizarre scene. He turns to Louis, who is ready with a smile for him.

Louis slides his freshly poured glass of Jameson over to clink his glass with Liam’s. “Cheers,” he whispers. The two of them lock eyes over the rim of their whisky glasses and sip their drinks.

“I see what Darren means,” Colleen says, looking at Liam and Louis as she sets a bowl of mashed potatoes down on the table. “It’s easy to see that you’re newlyweds. Still just a little bit shy with each other. After being married for so long, it’s nice to see.”

“I said so!” Darren cries, following Colleen into the dining room with a huge roast. He sets it at the head of the table and begins carving for everyone. “I’m quite good at observing people.”

Liam looks helplessly at Louis, unsure whether to laugh or cry. Louis reaches under the table and pinches at his wrist, which is no help at all, and also a great help because it’s such normal Louis behavior.

The Sicilian woman gives him a kind smile and leans across the table. “Sometimes I wish my husband would be more shy around me,” she confesses. “The burping and the farting! I could do without it.”

“I know what you mean,” Liam says, a little bit wickedly.

“Hey!” Louis protests. “I have been very courteous.”

“Scusi, signora!” the Sicilian man tries to defend himself to his wife. “I thought you liked me—is this how you say it?—warts and all.”

The woman lifts a hand to her husband’s face, and points as though finding a wart. Then she breaks into a smile, and pulls him in for a kiss. It’s quite a passionate kiss from what Liam can see, which isn’t very much because he feels like an intruder watching. He and Harry rarely kiss like that in public, but the Sicilian couple don’t seem bothered at all. Liam frowns. It’s a bit weird to be thinking about Harry right now, but it’s uncomfortable trying to figure out why that might be.

Colleen is just finishing setting food on the table, and she smiles at the Sicilian couple, who are still happily embracing. She walks around the table to Darren. “Isn’t this a lovely evening, dear?” she asks, and leans down to kiss him where he’s seated in his chair. Judging by the way he responds to his wife’s kiss, Darren obviously agrees that the evening is lovely. Liam looks away again, even though this kiss is less forceful than the one still taking place directly across the table.

Colleen takes her own seat at the other end of the table near Liam, and the Sicilian couple finally break apart. Much to Liam’s horror, everyone at the table is now staring expectantly at himself and Louis. 

“This evening really is very lovely,” Liam says, trying to be as polite as he can. “But I don’t think my husband and I will be participating.”

“We really are very shy,” Louis adds.

The Sicilian man wags a finger at Louis from across the table. “You cannot be so shy in marriage. This other person,” he points to Liam, “has given himself to you. You must open yourself up to him in return.” Louis is struck silent at these words.

“Ha,” Liam giggles, out of pure nerves. “Maybe just one quick kiss?” He shoots Louis a very pointed look like _just so we can all move on_.

To Liam’s surprise, Louis agrees. “Alright, darling.”

He pinches at Liam’s wrist again as a warning before darting in and planting a peck on Liam’s cheek. The pressure from Louis’ lips is light, and he’s gone from Liam’s space so quickly that Liam wonders if he had been there at all. It’s the shadow of a kiss. Liam feels the pinch on his wrist more.

“Perfect,” Liam says, plastering on a huge smile. Next to him, Louis gulps down the rest of his Jameson.

Both Darren and the Sicilian man protest loudly, Darren even smacks his palm on the table.

“You’re young and in love,” Darren says, looking between Liam and Louis. “Anyone with eyes can see that. It’s a beautiful thing. It’s a shame to be afraid of it yourselves.”

Goosebumps break out along Liam’s arms even though he isn’t cold. He doesn’t feel in control of his own body anymore, and he wonders vaguely if he’s had too much to drink on an empty stomach, although that can’t be right because he’s only had a couple of sips of whiskey so far. He looks at Colleen and at the Sicilian woman as though they’ll rescue him. Both women meet his gaze in turn, and give him two of the most sympathetic smiles he’s ever seen. 

Somehow, that’s what gives him the courage to turn and face Louis, who is already looking at him. He always seems to be already looking at Liam. It’s comforting, in an odd way; like Louis has learned to anticipate Liam’s moods just before Liam himself knows what he’s feeling.

For his part, Liam thinks he could almost read the look in Louis’ eye this time, except he doesn’t have quite enough time. Louis moves in, and, instead of pinching, he rubs his thumb across Liam’s wrist. Then he slides his hand up Liam’s arm, hooks it around the back of his neck, and draws him in. Liam falls into Louis’ touch, because—and he’s been vaguely aware of this fact—he’s at least halfway prepared for this. Liam had been reeled in ages ago, and when he feels Louis’ mouth against his own, it feels like the inexorable culmination of Liam’s urge to measure the space between them.

There isn’t any empty space left between them now, as Louis’ mouth is whiskey-hot against Liam’s own. At first touch, Louis merely presses his mouth against Liam’s lower lip, but now he’s sucking on it, just gentle enough as though he’s hesitant about it, but can’t stop himself anyway. Quite frankly, Liam wishes Louis would suck a little harder. Without realizing what he’s doing, Liam brings both hands up, rests one against Louis’ chest and works the other underneath Louis’ collar to grasp at the warm skin of his neck. Louis startles and opens his mouth at the touch of skin against skin, and they both melt all the way into it.

Louis is the one to break the kiss. He pulls away, just far enough that Liam, his eyes still closed, can’t quite chase him. He does keep his hand around Liam’s neck though. And when he’s sure the kiss is over, he rests his forehead against Liam’s, audibly gasping for air. Liam keeps his eyes closed for a moment longer. He can still taste Louis on his lips and on the tip of his tongue. He doesn’t want to open his eyes to see an inscrutable look on Louis’ face. He may not be able to decipher the look in Louis’ eye all the time, but there’s no mistaking the way Louis kisses. It’s time for dinner, but Louis’ kiss was intoxicatingly dessert-rich, like chocolate laced with deep red wine, and unmistakably earnest.

Liam knows from the way his stomach is repeatedly swooping. He knows from the way his skin feels like it’s on fire, even as the goosebumps along his arms persist. He knows that “culmination” isn’t precisely the right word to describe the kiss, because what just happened between himself and Louis isn’t an ending. Liam thought he had measured the distance between them properly. He had fallen backwards, away from Louis earlier, and he had been somewhat prepared to fall forward into Louis this time. But he knows now that he’s fallen much further than he had anticipated, and that this is only the beginning.

Louis is quiet, cheeks faintly flushed, and his hands pulled into his lap, withdrawing into himself. In contrast, Liam flails his hands around in front of him a bit, having temporarily forgotten how to use a knife and fork. Colleen reaches over and squeezes one of his hands in a reassuring way. The Sicilian woman winks at him from across the table.

“You see!” Darren calls, from the head of the table. “I said I was good at reading people.”

 

Liam drinks quite a lot that night. There’s more Jameson to be hand, and some red wine after that, and then some truly mouth-burning port that the Sicilian man insists on as an after-dinner drink.

Liam and Louis don’t say much to each other the rest of the evening, but they stay near each other, even after dinner, as Darren shows the Sicilian couple around his sitting room and his den.

Finally, the Sicilian woman glances over at them with an understanding look and says, “You two seem tired.”

“Yes!” Darren—who is quite red in the face now—bellows in agreement. “You’ve certainly had some adventures today. Climbing up Croagh Patrick and tumbling back down like that.”

“Yeah,” Liam agrees with a grateful smile toward the woman. “I think we’ll turn in.”

Maybe it’s because he’s tipsy, or maybe it’s because he’s keeping up the act, but Liam wraps his arm around Louis’ shoulder and guides him toward the stairs. Louis goes with him, and tilts his head ever so slightly into Liam. It’s not as casually intimate as when he had tipped his head onto Niall’s shoulder, it’s something a little different than that. Liam shivers at both the memory and the current contact with Louis, and he draws Louis in just a little bit more as they ascend the narrow staircase.

In the room, Liam walks around the bed, kicking off his shoes, and pats at a space on top of the bed. “Here,” he says to Louis. “This is your spot.” Louis gives him a sharp look, and Liam realizes that Louis is more sober than he is. Well, good, he thinks. One person in each married couple ought to be the responsible one at any given time. Who would have thought Louis would be the responsible one between the two of them.

Liam giggles to himself. “We’re married!” he shouts to the room at large. “Of course you can share the bed. You’re supposed to.”

“Are you sure?” Louis asks in a quiet voice.

“Oh, for Christ’s sake,” Liam huffs. “Just get in before I decide to hog the duvet.”

Louis relents and lets out a laugh. “I could have done worse,” he comments, his voice going tight, “for a first husband.”

+

{The Twenty-Eighth of February}

The next morning Liam doesn’t want to open his eyes. His head feels alcohol-heavy and he decides the best course of action is obviously to continue lying against these very soft pillows. He burrows into the bed a bit further before remembering that he’s been sleeping in a double bed for the first time since being in Ireland, and it’s all because he’s supposed to be married to Louis.

Liam doesn’t dare open his eyes now, although he’s itching with curiosity to know whether or not Louis had slept all night next to him, whether he’s still there. Maybe he’s awake already. Maybe he’s left, run off, leaving Liam’s fake marriage to end before it could really begin.

When he feels the bed shifting underneath him, he knows it means that Louis hasn’t left, that he’s right next to Liam. He turns his head toward what he knows is the window and not Louis’ side of the bed. His head is hurting quite a lot now, and he’d rather go back to sleep and stop thinking so much.

Liam stops thinking entirely when he feels a light but unmistakable pressure against his arm: two fingertips resting there. The touch begins high on his bicep, and then runs down the length of his arm. Liam feels a slight shift, and then the pressure of Louis’ thumb brushing across the inner-skin of his wrist.

The bed gives a creak now as Louis stands up and Liam hears him padding across the bedroom toward the shower. It’s only when he hears the door close that Liam opens his eyes. He rolls over to look at the empty spot next to him. There’s a soft dent in the pillow, and the sheets are slightly wrinkled. Louis really had slept the whole night next to Liam.

Liam drifts back into a light sleep, dreaming of sharp teeth biting deliciously into his lower lip, but then pulling away. He wakes himself up when he rolls over a little too forcefully. The bathroom door is ajar, and Louis doesn’t seem to be anywhere in the room. Liam assumes he’s downstairs eating breakfast and flops back into the pillows. His head is feeling better, but he’s still confused about his fake husband and the reality of Louis.

He had thought that Louis was the shark, had expected him to bite, but Louis was the one to break the kiss last night and to make sure that it would stay at an end. Liam can’t lie to himself, in that moment, he had been ready to chase Louis for more. He had initially thought that he wouldn’t bite at Louis’ vulnerability, but it’s so much more complex now that he’s had a taste of honesty from Louis.

There had been that burning look in his eye when Liam had cornered him about flipping the coin for the bed. Louis had been fully clothed, but there was something naked about his look in that moment, and the memory of it is setting a similar burning in the pit of Liam’s stomach. It’s the type of burning that does make Liam want to bite at Louis, tasting him again and again. But acting on that urge is an impossibility. Louis seems to know that, seems to have set a kind of boundary, but Liam…

Liam feels around on the nightstand for his watch and checks the time. It’s already after ten am, the latest he’s slept in since being in Ireland. He sits up gingerly, being mindful of his hangover, and makes himself presentable enough to go downstairs. He’d spotted a telephone in Darren’s den last night, and he needs to use it.

Downstairs there’s plenty of noise coming from the kitchen, but Liam avoids it and manages not to run into anyone until he’s almost at the den. He stops just before the doorway when he hears a familiar voice, and hides himself in a corner.

“Oh, for god’s sake, Niall,” Louis is saying into the telephone. “I’m never telling you anything again if you’re just going to jump to ridiculous conclusions… That’s not what’s happening at all. Besides,” Louis’ voice drops to a quieter tone and Liam has to strain to hear him. “He’s getting married, so none of this matters, anyway.”

Liam holds his breath, not daring to think that Louis is talking about him.

“No, he’s not engaged yet,” Louis continues on to Niall. “He has this whole plan about proposing to his boyfriend on Leap Day, so we absolutely have to make it to Dublin by tomorrow.”

Liam leans back against the wall for support, his head in his hands.

“I know, I know, I am being a terrible slacker. Of course I have to make it to Dublin as soon as possible, so that I can then make it back to The Lake Isle.” Louis gives a laugh, and Liam can imagine the brightness of Niall’s corresponding laugh. “Try not to be too bored without me, I know it’s very difficult.”

Louis rings off, and there’s silence from the den for a few moments. Liam side-steps back down the hallway a bit, and then stomps as loudly as he can toward the den, and even knocks on the door-frame.

“Oh, hello,” he says, hoping he’s doing a convincing job of looking surprised to see Louis.

“Good morning,” Louis says, walking around Darren’s desk, and nodding at Liam. “Was just checking in with Niall.”

“Thought I’d check in myself, you know, with Dublin.” Liam doesn’t say Harry’s name for some reason.

“Darren said we could use the phone as long as we didn’t make any calls out of the country, so go for it.” And with that, Louis practically runs out of the room and back down the hallway.

 

“Morning, Liam,” Harry croaks over the phone line.

“Have I woken you, sleepyhead?”

“Yeah. Bit of a rough one last night. It was Nick’s party. Caroline’s still here. Taking up way too much space in the bed, I might add. We made Nick sleep on the floor, but I think Ben took pity on him and took him back to his own room at some point.”

Liam tunes out while Harry describes more of his exploits. He can feel an internal pendulum swinging back and forth, as the warm familiarity of life with Harry crashes over him in a wave, followed by empty indifference to this crowd of people who make up the fabric of Harry’s daily life.

“So, where are you now?” Harry asks. “Shit, you’re not here are you? The room is an absolute disaster.”

“No, you’re in luck,” Liam laughs even though it’s not really funny. “We’ve ended up in west country. Somewhere in County Mayo.”

“That’s a relief,” Harry sighs. “Not that I wouldn’t be thrilled to finally see you. It’s just that I want everything to be perfect here when you arrive, and it’s sort of a hangover disaster zone at the moment. In the meantime, you and your chaperone should probably try to focus on moving further eastward.”

“I think it will be easier from here—if we try to go any further west, we’ll end up in the Atlantic Ocean.”

Harry rings off to order some room service, and Liam feels his inner pendulum settle as he comes to the decision to not feel guilty about not telling Harry that he’s pretending to be married to Louis. He doesn’t even feel guilty about keeping the kiss a secret. He doesn’t feel as though it’s cheating, although most people would apply that label to it. He and Harry are currently living social lives that have no bearing on each other whatsoever, that’s all it is. Of course it will be different when they reunite in Dublin, and he proposes.

Whereas, right now, Liam and Louis are a team, and only the two of them know that their marriage is fake, but that the kiss had meant something real. Liam knows that Louis likes to treat his secrets like things of tangible value that need to be kept locked away, and maybe he’s starting to feel the same way.

 

Liam greets Darren in the kitchen. “Do you know when the next train to Dublin is?”

“I’m afraid there won’t be any trains through here today, to Dublin or anywhere else.” Liam stares blankly. “It’s Sunday, of course!” Darren explains, like this is quite obvious. “There are never any trains on Sunday.”

“I know you have a car,” Liam presses on.

“I do, indeed.”

“Would you be willing to let Louis and I drive it to Dublin? I’ll have Louis drive it back to you tomorrow.”

“Ah, that would be no problem,” Darren says, and Liam makes the mistake of starting to smile before he’s finished speaking. “If only Colleen hadn’t already taken it out.”

“Do you know when she’ll be back?” Liam asks, verging on desperate now.

“Not until this evening. She’s doing the shopping for the whole week, and it’s a long drive back from Dublin.”

Liam feels like the wind has been knocked out of him. He doesn’t know where Louis comes from, but he’s there, suddenly, at Liam’s back, holding him up with both hands.

Eventually, after several more circular conversations, they manage to learn from Darren that there is a bus station a few miles away. He isn’t sure of the bus schedule, but everyone is in agreement that it’s the best hope for transportation on a Sunday.

Liam settles their bill for the night, but Darren insists that they stay just a few minutes longer while he fixes them a packed lunch to take on their walk, that it’s the least he can do.

Liam and Louis sit outside on a bench that faces the garden. The rain has mercifully stopped, and it isn’t really cold out, it’s just that sort of misty coolness that settles in after a steady rainfall.

“Who is the patron saint of travelling?” Liam asks. “Forget Saint Patrick, we should’ve gone looking for their shrine.”

“That’s an easy one,” Louis answers. “Saint Christopher. He’s famous for watching over travellers.”

“I should be off making sacrifices to him or something.”

“Sacrifices, yes, that’s exactly how saints work,” Louis deadpans.

“You’d never have this sort of trouble going somewhere on a Sunday in New York,” Liam comments after a moment, kicking his foot and making patterns in the soil. “But then, you also wouldn’t get a homemade meal to take with you, so I suppose there are advantages here.”

Louis is quiet for a moment, staring at Liam’s footprints, now part of the garden until the next rainfall. “What made you decide to move to New York?” He asks, finally.

“My mate Zayn and I moved over together after uni. He had a place at NYU to do his post-grad degree. I spent a lot of time looking for a job, it was really tough, actually. There were a few times where I thought I‘d have to pack up and move back home.”

“And look at you now,” Louis smiles, and Liam thinks it’s genuine. “A success story.”

“Well, a little bit. After all, you know I’m still only an assistant.”

“First assistant,” Louis corrects.

“What about you?” Liam asks after letting a minutes pass before pressing into Louis. “How did you end up off the coast of Ireland with your best mate?”

But Louis’ jaw flexes, he shakes his head, and Liam knows he won’t be hearing any details about how Niall convinced Louis to run a pub with him down at the very tip of County Cork. He doesn’t have to ask, he knows it’s all tied up with the nameless ex-fiancé, whose absence seems to inform such a large part of Louis’ identity.

Liam assumes that this is the end of their conversation, that they’ll sit for a couple more minutes before Darren will appear with their packed lunch, and that will be it.

To his great surprise, Louis leans slightly toward him and says, “I have four younger sisters.”

Liam leans in towards Louis. “Yeah?”

“Yeah. Two of them are twins. I miss them so much, but they’re grown now, or mostly grown. I don’t really know them as adults, and they don’t really know me. They must think I’m just the mad older brother, a failure who had to run away to Ireland.”

“That’s not what they think. To them, you’re an adventurer. And a businessman, too, running your own pub with Niall. You’re responsible, remembering to send home money when you can. They know that you don’t forget to think of them.”

Louis stares at him, his eyes wide and shining, and Liam knows it’s that rare vulnerability peeking out. “That’s kind of you to say, but I doubt it, ” Louis says, his tone wary.

“No, it isn’t kind.” Liam gives Louis a warm smile, hopes Louis absorbs some of it. “I’m the youngest myself. Believe me, I know a little bit about that type of mindset.”

Louis leans away from Liam now, surveying him. Liam has seen this look from Louis before, it’s one where he’s trying to figure out Liam’s game. Louis gives a tentative smile for a moment before it breaks into a real smile. Liam doesn’t know exactly what Louis has decided about him, but the smile makes him feel like he’s won the game. He feels feather-light and floaty, as though he’s made of the mist that surrounds the top of Croagh Patrick, the metallic heft of his watch the only thing weighing him down.

 

Darren sees the two of them off with a cheerful wave and promises to give their goodbyes to Colleen. Since it’s a Sunday, traffic is quiet, and Liam and Louis are able to walk side-by-side down the winding roadway. It’s paved at some points, but mostly, it’s simply dust for stretches at a time, and Liam’s suitcase rolls unsteadily behind him.

“What do you reckon about that Sicilian couple?” Louis asks, elbowing Liam’s side. “I know you were dying to get some _Godfather_ quip in.”

“Oh, come off it. This _Godfather_ obsession is out of control,” Liam scolds. But of course he had thought about it himself, so he adds, “The Sicilian mob is serious shit, isn’t it? You can’t just casually bring up mobsters, even if they’re really famous fictional mobsters.” Louis laughs at him.

The landscape is dotted with houses and farms here and there, but it doesn’t seem densely populated. Liam and Louis find a nice looking clearing off the road where they stop to eat Darren’s packed lunch, and, if Liam weren’t constantly on the lookout for bus station, he’d almost think this is the most peaceful Sunday he’s ever spent.

They walk quite far down the road, but there’s still no sign of a station, and Liam is beginning to feel that itchy panicky sensation that takes over when his plans aren’t working out.

“So, what are you going to say?” Louis asks, interrupting his private freak-out.

“About what?”

“When you propose.” Louis gives him a rather impressive eye-roll. “I’m sure you have the whole thing planned out in detail, so spill. How will you do it? What will you say?”

Liam stops walking. “Oh my god.”

“What?” Louis is walking ahead, not taking notice of Liam.

Liam covers his mouth with one hand, but then lets it fall away just as quickly. He can’t seem to speak, or breathe, or control his body at all.

Louis finally notices that Liam isn’t walking with him, and turns around. He takes one look at Liam, and rushes back to stand with him. “Here we go, it’s Liam’s panicked face.” But he doesn’t sound like he’s poking fun. “What’s wrong?” It’s the sincerity of his tone that compels Liam to look Louis in the eye.

“I have no idea what I’m going to say.”

“Really?” Louis cackles. “It can’t be! Liam the Plan Man doesn’t have a proposal plan.”

“I was so obsessed with the plans that come _before_ all of that, with buying the ring, coming over to Dublin—and that’s obviously turned into a fiasco—I forgot about the actual proposal itself.”

Louis isn’t laughing anymore. He’s considering Liam with a serious expression and it’s somehow worse than when he’s taking the piss. Liam feels tears stinging at his eyes.

“This really is a shit plan, isn’t it?” he cries, his voice cracking. “You were right all along, you tried to warn me. God, I just wasn’t thinking.”

Louis steps forward, grabs Liam by the shoulders and physically shakes him. “Too right!” Louis yells in his face. “You’re not thinking now. You’re panicking. Snap out of it!”

“Oh, sure, I’ll just snap out of it!” Liam yells back at him. “Never mind that I’m having a crisis in the middle of the roadway in goddamned County Mayo! I’ll just snap out of it really quick and easy.”

Louis drops his arms from Liam’s shoulders and takes a deep breath. When he speaks this time, his voice is much more calm and quiet. “Say the situation were reversed, and you were the one being proposed to. How would you want it to go?”

Liam opens and closes his mouth without any sound coming out. He narrows his eyes, and looks at Louis, but Louis’ shoulders are relaxed, his teeth aren’t barred, and he appears to be waiting for a serious answer. Finally, Liam looks down at the ground, lets all the tension drain out of his body, and really thinks about it.

“I suppose I would want it to be simple, just my fiancé and I. A public proposal would be alright, but not one of those mad ones where you hire a skywriter or anything. I’d just want it to be something special between the two of us. I mean, that’s why we’re getting married in the first place, right? So that we can keep sharing moments like that—moments that are just for us—for the rest of our lives.”

Liam looks up at Louis, realizing for the first time that this might be difficult for him, that it’s probably conjuring up memories of his own marriage proposal. But Louis isn’t showing any signs of cracking. He raises an eyebrow, urging Liam to continue.

“I’m not sure there’s anything specific I’d like my fiancé to say. I don’t need a poem composed about me or anything.” Liam gives a small smile, but Louis is still watching him seriously. “You know by now that I like tradition, and I have to admit that if I were being proposed to, I’d like my fiancé to get down on one knee.” Liam pauses for a moment before observing, “I’ve been planning to do the proposing this whole week. It’s strange to think about being the one on the receiving end.”

“Liam,” Louis addresses him in a firm voice. “No matter what happens, it’s your proposal, too. It’s your moment as well. So, you should think about what you want, and then that’s what you should do for your Harry. If you’re happy, he’ll be happy too, yes?”

“I suppose so,” is Liam’s vague answer.

All thoughts about proposing to Harry recede to the background as he stares at Louis, trying to bring him into focus. He’s never heard Louis speak so seriously before. He’s not soft like when he had been talking about his sisters, nor is there any trace of the bitter tension lurking beneath the surface like when he had confided in Liam about his broken engagement.

The Louis that Liam sees standing in front of him now has put his armor away—he’s stripped of his biting sarcasm and his deadly mischievous streak—and is unafraid to look Liam in the eye and take him seriously. Louis’ speech just now rings in Liam’s ears, and it’s like the personification of his kiss lingering on Liam’s lips. The thought has Liam feeling giddy with lightness again, but also heavy, weighed down by the burning that has reignited in the pit of his stomach.

Liam isn’t thinking, he has no idea what he might do next, but he’s saved from having to make any kind of decision by something large and painful hitting him in the head. “Ouch!” he yelps, but it doesn’t stop, it only gets worse.

“Hail storm!” Louis shouts, covering his head with his hands and jumping around, but there’s nowhere to hide from the persistent hail. “Isn’t that just the luck of the Irish!”

“But neither one of us is Irish!” Liam shouts back at him over the sound of the storm.

“My point exactly!”

They spot a small stone building a little ways off the road. “It looks like a church, they’ll have to take us in,” Louis reasons. “Housing those in need, and so forth.”

“I’m just wondering, have you ever actually been to a church before?” Liam asks. “They’re rather busy places on Sundays. We’ll have to be careful not to burst in during Mass.” Louis glares at him.

Worn stone steps lead from the road to the church door, and Liam takes a deep breath, preparing to heave his suitcase all the way up. For the second time that day, Louis surprises him. He takes hold of the bottom of Liam’s suitcase, hoisting it up so that they can carry it between the two of them.

“It will be quicker this way, come on!” Louis urges, and they take the stairs together.

Liam heaves the wooden church door open with one hand, and he and Louis fall into the vestibule. They’re damp, and Liam’s back is smarting from the constant hail.

“Jesus!” he exclaims, dropping his half of the suitcase on the floor with a loud bang.

It’s only then that Liam takes in his surroundings. A full congregation of people have turned around in their pews to see what the cause of the commotion is, and are now staring at him, scandalized. Liam realizes that this because, on the altar, the priest is presiding over a man in a smart tuxedo and a beautiful woman in a white dress.

“—Christ be blessed,” Louis adds to Liam’s outburst, and sets his half of the suitcase down with more finesse.

“Gentlemen,” the priest addresses them. “Do you know of any reason why these two people should not be joined in holy matrimony?”

“No, sir,” Liam shakes his head, thinking that the word “embarrassing” doesn’t begin to do the situation justice. “I mean, Father. No, Father.”

The bride gives them a confused but kind smile, and subtly inclines her head, meaning they should be seated.

“I’m just wondering,” Louis hisses at him, as they make their way to the nearest pew. “Have you ever actually been to a church before? You’re a mess.” He giggles, and Liam doesn’t feel badly about shoving his elbow into Louis’ ribs as he takes his seat.

The newly married couple turn out to be very friendly and understanding. “You must come to the reception!” the bride urges Liam and Louis, before the two of them can sneak out of the crowd undetected. “You sat through the ceremony, it’s only right you come to the party, too.”

“It’s an open bar,” the groom adds, and that seems to settle it.

An hour later, Liam finds himself sitting next to Louis, both of them raising their glasses of champagne to toast two people they don’t even know. Liam thinks he would quite like to know them though, if he lived here. The wedding reception is taking place under a white marquee tent, strewn with fairy lights, and gold and silver tinsel. Everything and everyone seem to be bubbling over with light and warmth, and neither the guests nor the bride and groom are able to stop smiling. Liam soaks it in and thinks he can only hope to have so much happy goodwill at his own wedding.

Liam knows Harry would think this wedding is lovely, if a bit small. Harry always likes a party, and of course all his friends would be invited to their wedding. Liam would have much less of a crowd for his personal contingency. His family, obviously. Maybe some of the nicer colleagues from work. And Zayn, of course.

Liam has so many acquaintances, but finds it harder to make really close friends, while Harry doesn’t seem to make a distinction. Every acquaintance is his friend. Harry had been difficult for Liam to get to know at first. Liam could never tell when he would burst out laughing at some odd joke, or why he kept shaking his curly hair out of his face. But as Zayn’s friend, Harry couldn’t be ignored. And eventually, Liam couldn’t resist that low raspy voice calling his name, the sleepy green eyes blinking awake next to him in the mornings, and, in this way, Liam had learned to let someone besides Zayn into his personal life.

Liam looks at Louis sitting next to him, a pensive expression on his face, and Liam knows what he’s thinking about. Liam is dreaming of his possible future wedding, while Louis is thinking of his wedding that never was. Liam has only known Louis for a few days, but he already understands what Louis is thinking. Liam laughs a little bit to himself because that’s kind of funny and kind of amazing, and also, maybe he’s already kind of drunk.

A few minutes pass, and Louis’ thoughtful expression doesn’t change. Liam doesn’t want to break his mood, but he does want to do something. He reaches over to where Louis’ hand is resting on the table, and gives his hand a squeeze. Louis looks down at their entwined hands for a moment and blinks, as though trying to process what’s happening. He doesn’t look at Liam, but he squeezes twice in return.

The bride pulls Liam and Louis out of their seats to join in a céilidh dance. Liam thinks he’s a pretty decent dancer, but he’s breathless trying to keep up with the relentless clapping and spinning and changing of partners. When the next dance begins, everyone breaks off into pairs. No one asks whether Liam and Louis are together, but no one tries to separate them from one another either.

So, Liam faces Louis with one hand outstretched. He wonders if Louis will bat him away, crack a joke, or say something really cutting. Instead, Louis accepts with a crooked smile starting at the corner of his mouth, and widening as he wraps an arm around Liam’s waist. And, eventually, Louis throws his head back in real laughter as the two of them accidentally stumble into a nearby table, and then Liam steps on some poor woman’s dress.

 

Liam wonders what his kiss must have tasted like to Louis to have him so easily accepting a dance with him.

 

There’s quite a lot of champagne to go around, and later some shots, and, somehow, Liam finds himself in possession of an entire bottle of whiskey to himself. The bride and groom are sitting alone at the head table, feeding each other cake and looking rather moony over each other, and the rest of the reception is emptying out by this time.

Liam finds Louis, grabs him by the elbow and starts to lead him outside.

“Wait!” Louis stops him. He races back to the table, pulls Liam’s suitcase out from underneath where they stowed it away, and drags it along as Liam takes several swigs directly from the bottle.

They have nowhere to stay for the night, and nowhere to go except for the elusive bus station. They wander into a little clearing of trees just off the road, but close enough to the reception marquee that they still have some light.

“Isn’t it strange?” Liam cries. “We stumbled onto a wedding right after we were pretending to be married.”

Louis shoots him a look; it’s mercurial, like an emotion being buried. “We stumbled onto a wedding right after we talked about you proposing to your boyfriend.”

Liam stops walking. “Didn’t you like being pretend married to me? Was I a bad pretend husband?”

“May I remind you that you pushed my car off the side of the road into a bog just yesterday.”

“That was before we were married!”

“Like that makes it better? Like that magically restores my car?”

“I was an excellent pretend husband,” Liam pouts. “I let you sleep in the bed!”

“Let’s calm down,” Louis laughs at him. “You’re developing an awfully high opinion of your pretend husband abilities.”

Liam sets the bottle of whiskey on the ground. He’s had quite a lot by now, and it’s hitting him all at once. He looks a little farther up the roadway and thinks he can see a light, as though there’s a streetlamp. Liam wonders if it could be the long sought-after bus station, or if it’s just a whiskey mirage.

“I’d like to be a real husband,” he says, blinking at the light.

“You will be. Very soon,” Louis says. He doesn’t seem to have noticed the light. Maybe it isn’t real.

“But I haven’t even asked Harry yet. He hasn’t said yes.”

Louis turns his face away from Liam, and flexes his jaw. Liam knows now that this doesn’t mean Louis is angry, just that he’s concentrating very hard on something. Louis opens his mouth to speak, and his sharp teeth flash for a second, but Liam knows it’s okay, that this action doesn’t mean that Louis intends to hurt.

“He will," Louis says without looking at Liam. “He will say yes.”

His tone of voice seems intentionally harsh, and, when he finally does look Liam in the face, his gaze is chilly. Liam shivers with it. He sways a little into Louis, who takes a deliberate step backwards, as though keeping an invisible threshold between them. Liam feels the widening space between himself and Louis viscerally, as a kind of gap in his chest, a chasm. He chokes with it.

“Louis!” he cries out, trying to put some feeling back in his numbing body. “You… God. You’re so… You’re so loud!”

“Yeah?” Louis snorts. “Who’s being loud now?”

“You’re brash. You’re cutting. I thought you were just genuinely a mean person.”

“I’m sorry, what exactly is the point of this rambling?”

“I thought you were a shark. I thought you were going to bite me, or maybe that you already had.”

Louis is staring at him, concern beginning to flash in his wide-eyed expression. “How much have you had to drink, Liam?”

“I know better than that now,” Liam presses on. He’s had too much to drink, he knows that. Otherwise he wouldn’t be trying to explain this to Louis. But it seems important to make him see. “You’re not a shark. And you’re not mean, so I won’t fall for that routine anymore.”

“You seem to know a lot about me. What am I, then, Liam?” Louis asks, his mouth set in a thin line. He’s not getting it. Liam hasn’t made him see. Louis hasn’t noticed the light down the roadway yet. “I’m quite fascinated to know.”

“You’re hurt,” Liam says, stepping an inch closer to Louis. He’s surprised to see that Louis stands his ground. “You were hurt, and I’m so sorry for that. But you don’t have to carry it around with you like a punishment.” Liam reaches out through the space between them and touches a hand to Louis’ chest, just below his neck. “You can share it. You can share it with me.” Liam slides his hand up to squeeze around Louis’ shoulder. The movement pushes Louis back slightly, and Liam thinks that the light is growing stronger, that it catches in Louis’ eye from this angle. “I want to share it with you,” Liam whispers.

Louis’ mouth is no longer set in a grim line. His jaw is relaxed, his face is open, but Liam thinks he detects something sad in his expression, and that isn’t right. Louis should _see_ by now that Liam would take on his sadness for him, share in all of it, and why should that make Louis sad?

Liam blinks, but Louis isn’t coming properly into focus. He leans in even further, but he’s forgotten about the space between them. It isn’t much, but it’s enough for Liam to lose himself. He falls into it and, as everything goes dark around him, Liam supposes the light was just a mirage after all.

+

{The Twenty-Ninth of February}

The first thing Liam notices is the harsh, sour aftertaste of vomit. It’s in his throat, in his nostrils, and he wishes he could brush his teeth from his position where he’s lying down. He feels a bit cramped, but at least his head seems to be resting on a comfortable pillow. Opening his eyes seems like a chore, but he can tell it’s daytime. Even through the hangover haze, something clicks into place in Liam’s mind, as he realizes that daytime means that it’s now the twenty-ninth, the day he’s been waiting for.

Liam tries to roll over to stand up, but he nearly rolls off the edge of something. When he finally opens his eyes and processes what’s happening, he realizes that he’s lying on a bench, and that his head has not been resting on a pillow like he’d thought, but on Louis’ thigh.

Louis looms over him, his arms folded across his body for warmth. He’s clearly still dozing off, his head swaying slightly from the lack of support—Liam’s neck aches just looking at him. He seems to have draped the Burberry trench coat over Liam like a blanket and let Liam sleep in his lap on this random bench all night.

Liam sits up, alarmed by just how comfortable he’d found Louis’ lap to be and by the close proximity of his head to Louis’ dick. He looks at his surroundings in an effort to stop thinking about and, indeed, staring at Louis’ crotch.

A wave of relief washes over Liam as he recognizes where exactly Louis brought them last night, as it turns out their bench sits underneath a streetlamp (now unlit), just outside the small bus station. They appear to be the only ones to have spent the night, but several other people are beginning to arrive now, either waiting for the bus outside, or going in to purchase tickets.

Liam’s suitcase is off to the side of the bench, resting just under one of Louis’ elbows. Liam has no idea how Louis had contended with both him and the suitcase last night, but thinks he should probably tack a little extra onto Louis’ agreed upon fee for his trouble. Liam’s stomach twists at the thought of paying Louis, and not because of the money. It’s a reminder that this trip—this messy, ridiculous, kind of amazing trip—is nothing more than a transaction between two people who will go their separate ways once in Dublin.

Liam takes his suitcase in hand and strides into the bus station. After purchasing two tickets for the next bus to Dublin, he freshens up as best he can in the toilets. If he makes it to Dublin by this afternoon—which he won’t believe until actually setting foot on solid ground there—he’d prefer to look slightly less dead than he currently feels. It will be the first time he’s seen Harry in two weeks, and this thought also makes his stomach twist, but in a slightly different manner. Liam splashes his face with cold water in an attempt to shake off his general feeling of unease, and then hunts down some coffee and croissants.

Louis is standing underneath the streetlamp when Liam walks back outside, his hand shielding his eyes like he’s looking for something. Liam realizes that Louis is looking for him. His eyes crinkle up in a genuine smile at the sight of Liam, as though maybe he had been afraid Liam had already caught a bus without him.

“You look like you’re in decently fighting shape this morning,” he comments. “How do you feel?”

“I’m pretty sure I’m dead.” Liam hands him a coffee and one of the croissants. “We have two tickets to Dublin, by the way. Bus leaves in thirty minutes.”

Louis nods, raises his coffee cup to Liam, and drinks in silence for a few minutes. He isn’t giving anything away about last night, about how much trouble Liam had been, and Liam is afraid this means he was quite a lot of trouble.

“I can’t remember much of last night,” Liam begins. “I remember enough to know that I made an arse out of myself on the dance floor at the reception. But beyond that, it’s pretty murky. I’m sorry, I hope I wasn’t too awful.”

“Well,” Louis gives him a gentle smile, and Liam knows he’s in for it. “You puked on my shoes just before passing out, so I’d say you enjoyed yourself.”

“Oh my god,” Liam stares at Louis’ shoes in horror. They look a bit soggy, as though he’s tried to rinse them off. “I am so sorry.”

“It’s alright,” Louis replies serenely. “You can add the price of a new pair to my tab. Along with a new car.”

 

Liam feels shaky the entire ride to Dublin, and he knows it isn’t because of the hangover or the coffee. He keeps expecting sheep, or perhaps even all the animals in Ireland to gather on the road, preventing the bus from carrying on toward Dublin. But no such obstacles appear, the bus rolls on, and that makes everything worse somehow. Liam finds himself leaning into Louis, pressing their arms and shoulders together, and, finally, resting his head on Louis’ shoulder. Louis doesn’t shake him off, and Liam feels his stomach settle.

 

Liam had begun to think of Dublin as some kind of fairyland that kept rejecting him, as though he had to earn something in order to gain entrance. Liam doesn’t know what he’s done differently today, but Dublin turns out to be easily accessible, as the bus enters County Dublin, and then the city center. The river Liffey flows through the middle of the everything, marking the heart of the town, as it’s done for thousands of years, and Liam sees the word DVBLINIA carved into the grey stone wall of a cathedral, signifying the ancient city.

Liam and Louis catch a taxi to the Shelbourne hotel, which is set at the end of a block, right across from St. Stephen’s Green, just as Harry’s photos had depicted. Once inside the revolving door, the two of them see that the lobby is richly carpeted, and there’s an ornate fireplace and a fancy-looking stairwell leading up to what promise to be spectacular rooms. A doorway off to the left opens up to a bar with spotless hardwood floors and glittering chandeliers. The front desk seems to be set at the back of the lobby on purpose, as though politely pretending that this is simply someone’s gorgeous home, not a hotel where tasks as mundane as “checking in” take place.

Liam leaves Louis by the fireplace to inquire at the front desk about Harry’s room.

“You must be Mr. Payne,” the man behind the desk says, handing Liam a key card. “Mr. Styles has been telling us to expect your arrival. It’s nice to finally see you.”

Liam thinks he detects some amusement in the man’s tone, as though goofy Mr. Styles and his imaginary friend, Liam Payne, had become a running joke among the staff. Nevertheless, the man recovers his professionalism to help Liam change some money to euros, and Liam returns to Louis with an envelope full of crisp euro notes.

“I can’t accept that,” Louis says, shaking his head.

“Of course you can. It was our deal.” But Louis is still shaking his head, his hands in his pockets, refusing to acknowledge the envelope. “Don’t think of it as something for yourself,” Liam suggests. “Think of it as being for your sisters.”

But this only makes Louis more emphatic about his refusal. Suddenly, a small smile creeps around the edge of his mouth. “Do you still have that quarter?” he asks.

“What?”

“You know, the one we flipped.”

Liam stares at Louis for a moment. He tucks the envelope into his jacket pocket, and pats down his other pockets, feeling around for the quarter. Of course he knows exactly what Louis is talking about. The quarter they flipped for the bed, the quarter they flipped when they were pretending to be married. He doesn’t say this though.

“Here you are. George Washington’s face,” is what Liam chooses to say as he hands it over to Louis.

“That’s the one.” Louis pockets the quarter with a smile. “We’re all settled now.” 

He bounces on the balls of his feet for a second like he’s ready to bound away, and Liam can’t stand it. “Let’s walk across the street for a minute, yeah?” he suggests. Louis raises an eyebrow. “The front desk said Harry isn’t in his room at the moment, so I have some free time,” he clarifies, trying not to admit to himself that he doesn’t want to say goodbye.

They cross the street together and walk through the wrought iron gate into St. Stephen’s Green. Evidently it rained earlier, as the ground is damp and the wind shakes errant water droplets through the spider web of tree branches above. No one in the park seems bothered by the dampness—it has rained before in Dublin, and it will rain again.

Liam and Louis cross halfway over a sloping stone bridge, and they look across the pond together. A group of ducks paddle below, and a bit further away, one lone swan glides majestically through the water.

“He’s here in Dublin,” Louis says suddenly, and without preamble. “Matthew. That’s his name.”

“Oh my god, Louis,” Liam whispers. He remembers Louis’ terse silence as the two of them had set off for Dublin. It makes sense now as Liam understands what Dublin means to him, and whom it signifies. “I’m sorry, I had no idea.”

“How could you have known?” Louis smiles almost wistfully at him, and then turns to face the water. “We lived here after we got engaged. We had a flat nearby, actually, on the other side of the park. When he walked out, he left me with the flat. I couldn’t afford it on my own. Niall bailed me out, he gave me enough to pay up and move the hell out of here.”

Liam can’t think of what to say, as all of Louis’ needling questions about money and boyfriends are drawn into sharp relief. “Shit,” he mutters, kicking against the stone bridge. “Er—do you mind me asking?” Liam ventures. “Was there someone else? Is that why he left?”

Louis’ laugh rings hollow. “No, he made that quite clear enough. He simply couldn’t be with me anymore. I am that much of a problem, apparently.”

“Shit,” Liam repeats.

“It’s so strange when someone breaks it off with you like that,” Louis muses. “It’s a wholesale rejection of you, of your way of life. I thought I had everything going for me, and then, quite suddenly, I had nothing. Not even a place to live. I’m only just now recovering.” He gives a violent shake of his head. “I must have seemed like such a fool to everyone.”

“You’re not a fool,” Liam insists in a quiet voice. “I know you now, a little bit at least. I’ve seen how loyal you are to the people you care about: to Niall, and to your sisters, even when you’re afraid they don’t care about you. You’ve even been loyal to me.” Louis tears his eyes away from the water now, looking hard at Liam. “It’s true, you helped me these past few days when I was just a stranger to you. I can’t say the same for this Matthew, though. Someone had your love and loyalty, and then chose to throw it all away? That seems like the really foolish thing to me.”

“Oh, Liam.” Louis’ face scrunches up, but he isn’t smiling. It looks like he’s trying not to cry. “I didn’t know what to think of you at first. The stranded city brat who blew out the electricity in the entire building in one go. _What the fuck does he know?_ I thought.”

“I thought I knew a lot about being organized and planning ahead.” Liam laughs at himself. “Ireland has been one long exercise in proving me wrong.”

“You know more than you think,” Louis insists in a quiet voice. He takes a deep breath before continuing. “You said that I’m insincere. You yelled it at me, actually. I see what you mean, but, I have to say, I haven’t lied to you, Liam. I don’t think I could if I tried. It’s something about your eyes. I feel compelled to be honest with you. It’s rather awful.”

Liam grins, and leans against the bridge for support. His stomach feels pleasantly fluttery, the sensation radiating out to his entire body. The familiar verses of _Innisfree_ come back to him: _And I shall have some peace there, for peace comes dropping slow_. Liam experiences Yeats’ words viscerally; he feels peace dropping over him in a tangible way as he and Louis look at each other, and the wind blows rainwater in cascading ripples onto the pond below.

“Walk me back to the hotel?” Liam asks, and he means, _walk with me one more time_.

Louis tilts his head, considering Liam’s meaning. He doesn’t make a joke. “Yes, alright,” he agrees.

 

_Innisfree_ feels distant back in the warm, rich interior of the Shelbourne, and Liam knows he must say goodbye here, and send Louis back to The Lake Isle.

“How will you get back?” Liam asks, as the two of them come to a stop in front of the lobby’s marble fireplace.

“The great thing about finally being in Dublin is that there are multiple trains and buses leaving at all hours of the day. I’ll be fine.”

“You’d better be. I promised Niall to send you back in one piece.”

Louis smiles wide and reaches a hand out. Liam knows what he’s going for, and is quick enough to stop him halfway. They entwine their hands together in mid-air, and remain like that for a moment. Liam can see the empty space between them, but he doesn’t need to measure the distance out. He won’t fall, because they’re connected.

A low, rasping voice cuts through the lobby of the Shelbourne, causing Liam to turn and break the connection.

“Liam!”

If Dublin has been a fairy tale land in Liam’s mind, then Harry is the prince presiding over it. He looks every inch the part as he strides through the lobby in his long black wool coat, pushing a stray curl out of his eyes, all the better to see Liam.

“Harry!” The name feels unfamiliar on Liam’s tongue, and he chokes on it.

Harry walks right up to Liam, kisses him twice on each cheek, and then takes a couple of steps back to get a good look at him. There are a couple of inches of empty space between Liam and Harry, but Liam doesn’t feel it; it means nothing to him. Harry reaches out to smooth down the collar of Liam’s trench coat. “I’ve missed you so much,” he says simply.

There’s a noise then, a kind of muffled squeak. Liam looks around to see Louis turning away and starting to leave. “Wait!” Liam cries.

“Hang on,” Harry joins in. “Is this your chaperone?”

Louis throws Harry a rather bewildered look, and smiles hesitantly at Liam.

“This is Louis,” Liam explains. “He helped me every step of the way getting here.”

“It’s very nice to meet you,” Louis says to Harry in a polite tone. “Liam spoke so highly of you.”

“Brilliant,” Harry says, enthusiastically shaking Louis’ hand. “I can’t thank you enough for helping Liam on his way to Dublin. By the way, did he take care of you?” Harry looks at Liam. “Have you tipped him?”

“Yes,” Louis cuts in before Liam can say anything. “Everything is taken care of.”

“Brilliant,” Harry repeats, with a huge smile as though everything is marvelous. Liam wrings his hands in frustration that Louis and Harry are meeting like this, with no hope of really understanding one another.

Louis pulls his peacoat more tightly around his body. “Goodbye, Liam,” he says in a tight voice. “Good luck to you both. Have a nice Leap Day.”

Then Harry is stepping in front of Liam, blocking his view so that Liam can’t see Louis as he leaves. Liam feels crazed and shaky again that he can’t catch a last glimpse of Louis. He tries to peek around Harry’s broad shoulders, barely registering that Harry is talking to him.

“We’ve had so much time apart these past couple of weeks, and it really made think about what’s important,” Harry is saying. “You had such a hell of a time getting here, and I thought, _how lovely that he’s making the effort_. You always do make the effort, Liam. And we shouldn’t have to be apart like that again, there’s no need for it. So, I went out and bought this.”

Harry reaches into his coat pocket and pulls out a small velvet box. It’s black and non-descript, not giving away any clues as to its provenance or what it signifies.

Harry sinks down onto one knee before him—the great marble fireplace framing the two of them—and opens the black box with a little snap. A simple gold ring glints up at Liam, nearly identical to the one he had picked out for Harry. People in the lobby stop to stare now, hotel staff and patrons alike. Liam even sees one person take out their camera.

“Liam,” Harry addresses him. “Will you marry me?”

The crowd gasps with delight at the question, even though they had to have known that it was coming. Liam didn’t know that this was coming, didn’t guess that Harry had the same idea that he did, although maybe he should have. Liam feels like this has been the game all along, after all, Zayn had thought Harry might propose that night two weeks ago at the Pierre. This is the Shelbourne, not the Pierre, and they’re in Dublin, not New York. But, as Liam looks around the sumptuous lobby, he can’t tell the difference. He doesn’t see the one face in the crowd that would stand out. The hotel’s revolving entrance door is spinning of its own accord, as though a ghost had just passed through it.

“Liam?” There’s an edge to Harry’s voice now. A detectable shift passes through the crowd as they wonder if this proposal will be refused.

Liam tries reaching out to Harry, thinking that this might help make the situation feel more real, but his hands are shaking too badly. He tries remembering the Yeats verses to calm himself, but he can’t concentrate with everyone staring at him, and the ring flashing in the light from the chandeliers overhead.

“Yes,” Liam gasps out as though his lungs are filling with water. “Of course I’ll marry you, Harry.”

Harry clutches at his chest right over his heart as the crowd cheers, and Liam senses photography flashes going off. Harry holds Liam’s hand and fits the gold ring onto his fourth finger. Then he stands up, kisses Liam swiftly on the mouth, and leans into his ear.

“You really scared me for a second there.”

“I was in shock,” Liam tells him. “I was planning to propose to you all this time. The last thing I expected was for you to show up with a ring.”

“Were you really planning to propose? You sneaky bastard. Is that why you flew all the way over here?”

Liam nods. “You caught me. Your ring is in my suitcase.”

“You’re such a romantic.”

They kiss again, and then Harry disappears into the bar shouting for champagne to be ordered for everyone.

“Er—must we do this right now?” Liam asks, his tone tinged with desperation, and Harry whirls around to give him a sharp look. “It’s just, I really need a shower. I’m not fit for celebrating at the moment.”

“Shall we take this upstairs?” Harry asks, a grin spreading over his face. “A private party?”

Liam nods. “Please.”

“Of course, darling. You must be exhausted. Why didn’t you just say so?”

Harry works everything out with the bar staff, and then takes Liam by the hand, leading him over to the lifts and up to the room.

_Why didn’t you just say so?_

Liam is finally beginning to understand something about Louis, about why he would say one thing, and mean something else. Sometimes it can be a form of self-preservation.

+

Harry had complained about New York in February, but Liam finds New York in March to be far more unbearable. The weather hasn’t yet shifted from winter to spring. There are no blossoms on the trees, and everything is grey: the sidewalks, the skyscrapers, the sky itself. The light looks different to Liam, different from the way it was in Ireland. It’s more distant, like it can’t quite penetrate the web of the city.

Liam goes to work every day, and it takes him ages to sort through the endless emails he missed while his phone was dead. His colleagues are thrilled when they notice the ring on his finger, and suggest taking him out to celebrate. He begs off, saying that they’d already done enough celebrating in Ireland.

Before leaving for Ireland, Liam had felt unmoored without Harry at home with him. Now that they’re back together, falling back into their daily routine, he feels more distance between them than when Harry had been an ocean away.

Harry had been excited to open the Tiffany’s box to discover the ring inside. Liam slid the gold ring onto Harry’s finger, and then Harry had insisted on taking several pictures of both of their hands with the matching gold bands. Truthfully, there had been very little celebration.

“I’m so tired,” Liam had protested, collapsing onto the massive hotel bed. He and Harry had spent the rest of the afternoon just lying next to each other.

It’s strange, being physically near Harry now, lying in bed with him, being close to his body. Liam had only kissed Louis once, and only on the mouth, but the one kiss had been almost enough to make him forget that you can move beyond a kiss, that there’s more to it.

Liam kisses all over Harry’s body, while Harry comes apart under his mouth. Liam makes his way down Harry’s chest to the ticklish skin on his stomach, sucking hard. He works at it until he’s the one shaking, and Harry is the one patting his back, murmuring, “Hey, it’s alright, Liam. It’s alright now,” in a comforting voice.

He wraps both arms around Liam, and Liam buries his face in Harry’s neck. Liam knows Harry’s body like it’s his own by now, and they’re completely pressed together, no space between them. And yet, Liam can’t shake the feeling that there’s something empty about this intimacy.

Zayn is happy to see his two best friends arriving home engaged to each other, and he can also see that Liam doesn’t want to discuss what happened in Ireland. He takes to inviting Liam and Harry over after work on separate nights so that they can each have Zayn all to themselves. Liam and Zayn’s routine is nothing more exciting than drinking beer and watching sitcoms, but Liam always smiles at Zayn, grateful for the normalcy, and Zayn rubs Liam’s back in return.

 

Harry begins seriously talking about California again, and Liam doesn’t even need to glance outside at the grey monotone of the city to know that he’s willing to give it a chance.

“Let’s do it,” he tells Harry. “Let’s give California a try.”

“It’s such a relief to hear you say that,” Harry says, wrapping him in a hug. “Because, actually, I sort of already bought a property there.” He pulls back, and gives Liam a sheepish look.

“Oh my god, Harry. When did you even have time to do that?”

“Just before I left for Ireland. I had to tell the realtor that we were already married, isn’t that funny?” Harry gives a casual little laugh as though he’s merely commenting on the weather. “She was dead nosy, it was none of her business, really. I guess you have to talk all kinds of shit just to seem impressive to realtors.”

“But Harry,” Liam’s brain is working hard to keep up. “You only told me about California just before you left for Ireland.”

“Yeah, I know.” Harry scuffs the toe of his shoe along the hardwood floor. It leaves a mark.

“And you said we were married, but didn’t tell me about it?”

“We’re going to be married now, so it doesn’t matter, does it?” Harry gives a shrug and a smile. “It was a harmless little lie. We had to seem impressive to land the house, and now we are impressive.”

Harry wanders away, chatting about movers and shipping methods, while Liam stands absolutely rooted to the spot. He stares at the mark Harry’s shoe left against the hard wood floor, and wonders why being pretend married to Harry makes him feel further away from Harry than ever.

That night when Liam takes off his watch before bed, he does a double take. He had wondered about Harry’s motive for such an expensive gift, and now it seems obvious that the watch is inextricably linked to the California property. Cartier is no slouch, and the watch still appears as pristine and spotless as ever, but it feels heavier than usual when Liam puts it on again the next morning.

 

Harry begins packing up the apartment, but in a rather disorganized manner.

“Liam!” Harry calls one day, as he barges into the second bedroom, which they use as an office, carrying an empty box. “You have to help me with this packing business. What do you think we should start with in this room?”

Liam glances around at the stacks of miscellaneous paper and file folders, and the books Harry used for uni, but hasn’t read since. “I have no idea,” he answers honestly.

“Liam, please, I need you to be a little more helpful than that. You’re supposed to be good at this kind of thing.”

Liam bristles at this comment for some reason. “I’m sorry, Harry. I’m not sure there’s much of importance in here.”

“Here’s what I’ve been doing to help get through this nightmare packing. Imagine there’s a fire,” Harry instructs. “What would you take with you out of the building? Pack those items first.”

“There isn’t any fire,” Liam says.

“Of course there isn’t a real fire, it’s an imaginary scenario.”

“No. There isn’t any fire here,” Liam clarifies. “Not anymore.”

Harry sets the box down on the floor and considers Liam.

Liam undoes the clasp of his watch.

+

March slides into April—the cruelest month—and there’s still no change in New York’s grey outlook. However, the view is cozier from Zayn’s modest apartment across town. Liam is currently sleeping on the sofa and surrounded at every turn by books. There are books stacked two-deep on high shelves, books stacked up on the coffee table, and little mountains of books rising up from the floor, so that Liam gets the feeling that this isn’t so much Zayn’s apartment, but the place where Zayn’s books live.

Zayn is absent a lot of the time, either giving or attending lectures, but Liam finds solace in his home among his books. The books don’t judge Liam, already too busy with their own stories.

Liam works up the nerve to return the ring to Tiffany’s. The man in a little office a few floors above the display cases accepts it back with a tactful and discreet, “I’m sorry, sir. Sometimes these things don’t work out.” Liam exits the store with a rueful glance at the seemingly happy couples browsing on the first floor.

 

Liam wakes up in the morning thinking of Ireland, of twisting roads, rising mountains, and marshy bog land. He walks past Central Park and remembers the wrought iron gate marking the entrance to St. Stephen’s Green. He falls asleep at night with the feel of the wind whipping in his face, and damp mist curling around him. He dreams of standing once again on the beach with thick wet sand underfoot, the waves breaking dramatically as they make landfall.

 

He feels restless, knowing that he can’t stay with Zayn forever. He’s getting a bit old to be crashing on a friend’s sofa, and he desperately needs a place of his own. Liam knows he needs to do _something_ for himself, but he needs a little bit of help seeing what that might be. Sitting in Zayn’s apartment, hemmed in on all sides by books, it’s obvious to whom he should turn for guidance.

Liam looks for Zayn, and finds him sitting at the kitchen table, his glasses on, marking an essay with a red pen. He sets the pen down when he notices Liam.

“Everything alright?” he asks.

“I was just wondering,” Liam begins. “You know that poem, _The Lake Isle of Innisfree_?”

“Of course I know it, mate.”

“You have it memorized, don’t you? I know you must.”

“Yeah, I suppose I do.”

“Don’t be modest, you’ve had it memorized for years now.” Zayn grins and shrugs. “Can you tell me, right now, how does the last bit go? How does it end?”

“What, like, the last stanza?”

“Yes.”

“I thought you didn’t care for poetry readings,” Zayn teases.

“Zayn,” Liam sets of both his hands on the table, leaning his weight down. “I need you to tell me. Please tell me the end.”

Zayn takes off his glasses, and considers Liam. He knows that Liam hasn’t asked for much the past few weeks, and he must see that there’s a reason he’s asking for this now. “Alright,” he agrees after a moment. “Just the last verse, yeah?” Zayn looks around the room, even though there isn’t anyone else around, runs a hand through his hair, and clears his throat. Then he looks Liam in the eye as he recites:

“I will arise and go now, for always night and day  
I hear lake water lapping with low sounds by the shore;  
While I stand on the roadway, or on the pavements grey,  
I hear it in the deep heart’s core.”

“Yeah.” Liam stands up, and gazes out the window toward the horizon. “That’s the one.”

+

Liam catches the next available flight to Ireland. This time he lands at Shannon airport, catches a train southward, and takes the familiar ferry down to the very edge of Cork. He isn’t worried about travelling this time, doesn’t need Saint Christopher. He realizes now that he had never needed Saint Christopher, or anyone else’s help, because he had Louis with him. Louis helped him every single step of the way on the road to Dublin, and that’s all Liam could ever ask for.

Liam has to smile at the sight of the familiar beach when he steps off the ferry. It had seemed tempestuous, grim, and a little off-putting, even. But Liam looks at the waves now as an old friend, and he gives a little salute before continuing up the hill to The Lake Isle.

It’s evening, and the pub is crowded with people ordering drinks and dinner. Liam doesn’t see Louis right away, but he spots Niall behind the bar. Niall does a double take when he sees Liam sidling up to the bar counter.

“I don’t fucking believe it!” he cries, hopping over the edge to wrap Liam in a hug. “I’ll go fetch Tommo, yeah? Tell him someone’s complaining about the television channel, that’ll get him out here right quick.”

Niall disappears, and muffled noise comes from the kitchen. There’s some rather loud stomping before Louis appears through the kitchen doorway, his blue eyes flashing. “Who’s whining about watching Match of the Day?” he bellows. 

“That would be me.” Liam raises his hand, and Louis along with several other patrons, turn to look at Liam.

Louis blinks. A shade passes over his face. “Liam, what an unexpected visit. How is Harry? Is he with you?”

“No, Harry isn’t here. We broke it off. The engagement. Everything.”

Louis blinks again. “I’m sorry to hear that.”

Liam shakes his head. “I’ve come here on my own, Louis. I’ve come with something to ask you.”

Niall has appeared in the doorway behind Louis now, and he’s biting at his lip while listening to Liam. More patrons have paused their conversations to see what’s going on between Louis and this stranger. The telly blares in the background, and Yeats’ words hang overheard as Liam takes a deep breath and continues.

“I had a proposal in mind for so long,” he tells Louis. “But it was the wrong one. I know that you’re not a fan of tradition, Louis, and I wouldn’t ever want to lock you into something. But, I’ve brought _The Godfather_ with me, all three films. So, without making any set plans, I thought we could watch them together sometime. And I thought we could keep doing things like that. You see, I’d desperately like to not stick to a schedule with you. I’d like to continue not making plans with you for as long as we both shall live. What do you think, Louis?”

No one in The Lake Isle makes a sound as Liam and Louis look at each other. Louis’ face is still drawn, and Liam can’t read him at all. He looks hard into Louis’ eyes, trying to convey that, of all the times he’s meant something, he means this most of all.

Louis must not get the message because he turns away without a word and brushes past Niall back into the kitchen. Niall gives Liam a sympathetic look before chasing after Louis.

Liam remains standing alone by the bar for several minutes. Everyone politely pretends that he isn’t there, averting their gaze, and valiantly making attempts at casual conversation again. Liam knows he can’t stay here. Everyone’s pity for him is palpable, and the ghost of Louis’ silent refusal still hangs in the air.

As Liam strides out the door, he can practically feel the hum of gossip and chatter about him brewing, ready to explode. He tries not to think about it, he has more pressing problems. It’s becoming late, the sun will set soon, and he had been counting on staying overnight at The Lake Isle.

He wanders back down to the beach to watch the tide roll out. It’s the only place he feels welcome here now. He spreads his trench coat out on the sand, sits down, and watches as the setting sun seems to light the water on fire.

He’s concentrating on the sounds of the water, and doesn’t hear the footsteps behind him until they’re quite close. Liam startles and jumps to his feet, only to find himself face-to-face with Louis.

“Did I scare you?” Louis asks.

“You always scare me,” Liam answers truthfully.

Louis gives a wry smile, and looks out to the water. Liam looks at Louis’ profile, as sharp as ever, and he can see the orange glow of the sun reflecting in his eye. He’s wearing a simple short-sleeved white collared polo shirt, even though it’s cool out with the sun going down, but he doesn’t seem to notice.

“The Lake Isle is doing really well,” Louis says, still looking out to sea. “So well, that Niall and his brother have bought a space in Dublin. They want to open a pub there.”

“Wow.” Liam tries to be interested. He really is happy for Niall, but he can’t help but feel that Louis could have chosen a better time to bring this up. “That’s brilliant for Niall.”

“Yeah.” Louis digs the toe of his shoe into the sand. “He wants me to run it.”

“Oh.” _Oh_.

“He thinks I’m up to the task. It’s very early stages right now, but,” Louis gives a shrug, and Liam sees a small, pleased smile there as well. “We’ll see how it goes.”

“Good luck to you, Louis.” Liam forces a smile. “That sounds like a great opportunity for you.”

Louis turns then without warning and gets directly in Liam’s space. He looks Liam in the eye. “What happened with you and Harry?”

Liam takes a step backwards. He can’t have Louis in his space right now asking such personal questions. There needs to be more distance between them. But Louis follows Liam, pressing in, and Liam sees that the look on his face is genuine.

“I told you, we broke it off. Well,” Liam amends. “I broke it off with him. He moved to California, and I didn’t.”

“I couldn’t see,” Louis whispers. “I couldn’t see when you had your coat on that you’re not wearing your watch. I’m sorry.”

“It’s not my watch anymore.” Now it’s Liam’s turn to give a wry smile. “It’s alright. Harry and I had been dating for so long and it was time for us to break up, not get married. It just took us a little while to figure that out.”

Louis reaches for Liam’s hands, clasping both of them. Then he’s falling, at least that’s what Liam thinks is happening. He had wondered when Louis might fall of his own accord, when Louis would feel what’s between them.

“Careful!” Liam cries, and he sinks to his knees, gripping at Louis’ wrists to keep him steady.

But Louis flails in his grip. “Liam, what are you doing?” he shouts. “Stand back up!”

“What?”

“Will you please stand up?”

“I thought you were falling,” Liam tries to explain. He can feel his eyebrows drawing together in confusion. “I wanted to make sure you were alright.”

“Oh my fucking god.” Louis barks out a laugh. “Liam, I wasn’t falling. I was kneeling down because I’m trying to propose to you, you absolute idiot.”

“What?” Liam shouts it this time, and rips his hands away from Louis. “You? Propose to me? But I just proposed to you, and you rejected me!”

Louis looks affronted. “If you were paying attention at all you would know that I didn’t reject you. I didn’t say anything.”

“Which is just as good as saying no.”

“It’s not the same at all, but you want a rejection? Here it is: I reject your proposal, Liam. Because I have a better one in mind.”

“Of fucking course!” Liam throws his hands in the air. “You always think you know best!”

Louis makes a grab for Liam’s hands, and brings them back down, calming him. “Look, you told me once that you like tradition, and you’d like to be proposed to from on bended knee. So, if you would please stand up and hear me out. You can say no, fair is fair. All I ask is that you please stand up, shut up, and listen to me for a minute.”

Liam takes a deep breath. “Actually, I’ve done that type of proposal. Harry proposed to me before I could propose to him, you see.” Liam can see Louis’ eyes widening as he takes in this information. “He got down on one knee and gave me a ring. It was lovely of him. It was everything I wanted, but, after awhile, it became clear that it was nothing I needed. So, if it’s all the same, I think this time around, I’ll stay down here with you.”

“Alright,” Louis agrees. “I’m not sure why I’m kneeling like an idiot, then. But I suppose it’s alright if we both do it.”

A smile plays at the corner of Louis’ mouth, and Liam can feel himself leaning forward, already being drawn in.

“Here’s the thing, Liam.” Louis begins. “I don’t want to not make plans with you. It turns out, you’re the only person I want to make plans with. I don’t have a ring to give you right now, and you know that I haven’t got much money. I’m sorry that I don’t have more to offer you. But here’s my proposal.”

Liam and Louis kneel to each other in the sand as the sun sets. The wind whips through their hair, and the water laps against the beach in a gentle rhythm as the tide draws out. Liam listens, and Louis laces his fingers with Liam’s as he speaks.

“Liam, will you come to Dublin with me, for the second time?” Louis asks. “Will you live there with me? Will you build something there with me? Will you help make the city our own? Liam, will you marry me?”

Liam smiles even through the wind biting at his face and the tears stinging his eyes. He squeezes at Louis’ hands, pushing into Louis, and bringing the two of them closer together.

“Yes, Louis.” Liam gives his answer right away. “Yes, I want to do all of that with you. Yes, I will marry you.”

Liam drops Louis’ hands and reaches for Louis’ face instead, drawing him all the way in. He kisses away the tears that are streaming down Louis’ cheeks. He kisses at the edges of the smile that’s breaking open across Louis’ face. Then Louis kisses him back, and it’s as intoxicating as Liam remembers, only the salty tears and sea air add something to it this time, so that it’s just like that deep red wine, but with an invigorating undercurrent.

They kiss until they’re both gasping and have to break apart to breathe. Louis takes Liam’s face in one hand and wipes away his tears with the other. Liam doesn’t know if either of them will ever stop crying or smiling.

“You know what’s funny?” Liam asks, sniffling and shivering a bit in the cold air. The sun has really gone down now. It’s dim, not quite dark yet, but it will be soon.

Louis doesn’t make a joke. He smiles softly at Liam. “What?” he asks, genuinely wanting to hear what Liam has to say.

“We only kissed once before we got engaged, and we’ve never had sex.” Liam giggles like a schoolboy. “Isn’t that terribly Victorian of us?”

Louis waggles his eyebrows, and grabs at Liam’s belt, bringing him in as close as possible. “I had plenty of sex with my first fiancé and it still didn’t help our relationship. I’d say the two of us have a decent shot at working things out. Besides,” Louis is smiling wide again, Liam can see it even in the dimming light. “Nothing is stopping us now.”

Liam grabs Louis around the waist and they tip over sideways to lay on top of Liam’s trench coat. Louis rolls them over so that he’s sitting on top of Liam. He had never taken his hand away from Liam’s belt, and now he’s making quick work of undoing it along with Liam’s flies.

Liam puts his hand on one of Louis’ to stop him.

“Is this okay?” Louis asks, stopping immediately. “Do you not want to do this? It’s alright if not.”

Liam looks up at Louis, and he takes a moment to breathe. Louis is straddling him, and he can feel that Louis is already on his way to being hard. He’s never seen Louis’ cock before, but he’s allowed to now. They’re allowed to do this together. Liam takes another breath while Louis waits for him.

Then Liam lifts his hips, grinding up into Louis, knocking him off balance just a little bit. Louis gasps, and throws both his hands on Liam’s chest, anchoring himself.

“Dirty,” he says, in awe. He leans into kiss Liam. “We’ll start simple,” he whispers. “After all, we have all the time in the world now to figure out what we like.”

Liam agrees that this is their life now and it sounds spectacular to him, and kisses Louis hard to tell him so. Louis breaks away from the kiss only to continue taking off Liam’s trousers. He finally pulls them down, and Liam doesn’t even mind the cold air so much because Louis is right there with his warm touch. When he first touches Liam’s dick, that’s all it is. He’s not gripping or stroking, it’s an experimental touch, but it’s still enough to make Liam forget himself, close his eyes, and moan in satisfaction. This encourages Louis—he spits in his hand, and sets to work.

It feels fantastic, but it’s not quite enough. Louis is still fully clothed, and that won’t do. Liam pulls himself together enough to grab at Louis’ hips, give a squeeze in warning, and then flip them over. Louis lands on his back with a gasp, and Liam places his hands on either side of Louis’ head, looming over top of him. Louis gazes up at him with that naked, burning look in his eye. Liam can read it this time; he knows that it’s the look of pure desire. Liam thinks that he’s only able to read it now because this is a moment where it can finally be acknowledged between them. He can freely respond to that desire, and he does.

As Liam finally gets Louis’ trousers off, it turns into a bit of a fight with each of them scrambling to get a hold on each other’s dick, and get a proper angle. Louis pushes himself up onto his knees so that they’re kneeling to each other again, and Liam has to laugh, because he might have known that sex with Louis would be just like everything else with Louis. It’s different, and easy and kind of wonderful to be able to fight a little bit and then laugh about it during sex. Louis grips hard at Liam’s shoulder for balance with his free hand, his hair now falling down across his forehead, but he smiles, and that’s how Liam knows he feels the same way.

Liam loses patience a little bit. He bats Louis’ hand away, because his hand is bigger and he can take care of this for both of them. He takes both of their dicks in hand, smearing the mess of spit and pre-come together, and strokes as one. His hand cramps up with the effort, but it’s worth it for the way Louis’ nails dig into the skin of his shoulder through his shirt, and for the way he can actually see Louis tense up and go taught just before falling apart.

Louis opens his mouth, his sharp teeth flashing. He gives a strangled cry, and falls forward into Liam. This is what sets Liam off more than anything, more than his own hand, which is still working over his own cock, more even than the friction of Louis’ cock next to his own. It’s the fact that Louis finally fell into the space between them, that he fell willingly, that he’s resting there now, and that Liam himself made it happen.

Liam collapses and they both fall back onto the trench coat laid out in the sand. They lay there in the dark for some time, Liam watching as stars begin to appear in the sky. Just when Liam thinks Louis is asleep, he rolls over.

“Shit,” he says. “I’d jump in the water to rinse off, but it’s fucking freezing.”

Liam kisses him on the forehead. “Wouldn’t want you catching hypothermia before the wedding.”

“Come on." Louis pushes and shakes Liam’s shoulder. “Let’s get inside for a hot shower and some drinks. I want to celebrate!”

Liam would make a mental note that Louis gets weirdly pushy after an orgasm, but, actually, he’s always like that. Instead Liam bundles his trench coat around Louis, and they huddle close together as they walk back to The Lake Isle.

 

Later that night, after many congratulatory rounds of drinks courtesy of Niall, Liam looks around Louis’ room. He gets ready to settle some of his things in amongst the David Beckham posters and pictures of Louis’ mum and sisters, when he notices something. There’s an empty picture frame sitting on the nightstand that looks familiar.

“Hey, did you…?” Liam isn’t even sure exactly how to word it, but he points to the empty frame.

Louis, who is changing into a pair of flannel pajama bottoms, raises an eyebrow. “Why did you think I left you after your little proposal downstairs?”

“Oh I don’t know, I thought you were doing your best to embarrass me and break my heart all in one go.”

Louis rolls his eyes. “Obviously I had to take care of something.” He motions to the empty frame. “I had to make room for something new.”

“You couldn’t have just said that?”

Louis walks over to Liam. He traces a finger along the collar of Liam’s sleep t-shirt, and hooks a finger in. “No,” he says. “Don’t you know by now? It’s never that easy between us.”

Liam leans down to kiss Louis on the mouth, and thinks that “never that easy” tastes exactly right.

+

Liam and Louis marry each other six months later in a private ceremony at dusk. It’s October, and the familiar little beach is illuminated by that half-light that’s so particular to Ireland. Liam waits for Louis with Niall’s brother, who’s officiating the ceremony.

Liam paces back and forth, feeling like an idiot wearing a suit and dress shoes on a beach.  
When Niall appears over the hilltop and gives a little wave, Liam knows that Louis is on his way. And when Louis comes into view, Liam sees that he’s wearing a suit too. They smile to each other from a distance, knowing that they’ve always been matching idiots on this beach.

Niall holds his arm out to Louis, who takes it. It begins as a joke, as they laugh with each other and do a mock-dramatic walk, but, as they approach Liam, it turns into something more serious. Louis and Niall exchange a look, then Niall lets go of Louis’ arm, and guides his hand to Liam’s. There’s a sort of gravity in Niall’s look, as he locks eyes with Liam. Liam knows it’s because Niall used to be Louis’ secret keeper, but that now that’s Liam’s job. And it’s also that Niall used to be Louis’s friend, but now he’s Liam’s too, for life.

Greg keeps the ceremony short and sweet. Liam and Louis exchange two silver rings with each other, and Niall whoops and cheers when they kiss for the first time as a married couple. Then he runs toward the water and does his best to splash the two of them. Obviously the three of them end up soaked. Niall runs after Greg, trying to ruin his clothes by giving him a sopping wet hug, while Greg dodges him all the way down the beach. Meanwhile, Liam and Louis hang off of each other, happily soaking wet and married.

“A beach wedding was a good idea,” Louis says, a gleam in his eye. “Now there’s nothing for it but to take off these wet clothes.”

 

The two of them plan a big wedding reception for their family and friends in Dublin to coincide with the opening of The Lake Isle branch there. Niall’s wedding present turns out to be Louis’ Renault Clio—cleaned and restored from the bog—and Louis drives Liam to Dublin again. This time it only takes them one day.

The Lake Isle in Dublin is clean and new, but no less cozy than its sister pub in Cork. Over the past six months, Liam had spent hours doing research and making lists of resources they would need, while Louis made the phone calls and sent emails to possible contacts. Eventually they pulled together a team to help them renovate and build a proper pub.

The new Lake Isle is set on a side street just off of busy Grafton street, meaning they’ll attract tourists for sure. But Liam thinks the place is homey enough to entice locals, and it’s near enough to Trinity for student crowds. Niall is as optimistic as ever that it will be a success, and Liam and Louis have to agree, so they throw open the doors to welcome their families and friends for the grand opening.

Liam standing outside on the street making sure the dinner menu is visible in the window when he hears a familiar voice calling his name. He turns around to see Zayn racing towards him, his arms outstretched, ready to pull him in for a hug.

“I thought we’d turned down the wrong side street,” Zayn laughs, ruffling Liam’s hair. “But I should have known, _Innisfree_ always appears just where you look for it.”

“We?” Liam asks.

Zayn pulls away, and Liam can see another person standing behind him. It’s Harry.

“Look who I convinced to ditch sunny California for a week.” Zayn pulls at the scarf wrapped around Harry’s neck. “Wouldn’t be needing this in LA, would you?”

Harry wrinkles his nose, batting Zayn’s hand away. But then he looks at Liam and gives a shy smile, which Liam returns.

“There you are!” Louis calls from the doorway. “Are you hiding out here? I’ve been looking for you.” He makes his way over to Liam, but stops when he sees Harry. “Oh. Hello,” he says, stiffly.

Liam reaches for Louis’ wrist and runs his thumb around in a little circle, letting Louis know that it’s okay. “Louis,” he says. “You know Harry already, of course. And I want you to meet my friend, Zayn.”

Louis’ face lights up. “So, this is Zayn! You know, it’s really your fault that Liam and I met in the first place. It’s very convenient that we can blame you for everything.”

“Blame?” Zayn cries, mock outraged. “More like you owe me.”

Louis grins. “I hear you’re a Yeats scholar?” Zayn gives a modest little shrug. “We could use your expertise. Come on, there’s someone you should meet.” Louis grabs Zayn by the arm and drags him inside to meet Niall.

Liam remains outside on the pavement and faces Harry. “I’m sorry you left California for this,” he says, motioning to the overcast sky.

“Nah,” Harry shakes his head. “When even homebody Zayn told me that he was taking time off work and making the trip over, I knew I had no excuse.”

Liam tilts his head to the side, considering Harry. He looks good in a healthy sun-tanned way. He’s looking at Liam with wide, shining eyes, and Liam knows he’s here in good faith.

“I’m living in a condo in LA,” Harry says. “That house I bought for us…” Harry shakes his head. “I had Ben take care of it.”

“I really am sorry about that,” Liam says, because he is sorry. About the whole thing.

“I miss you, Liam,” Harry says, his voice cracking. “As a friend,” he emphasizes. “I think that’s what we should have been for a long time. Goofy friends. And I miss that. I miss you telling me to shut up.”

“I never told you to shut up.”

“Maybe you will now.” And they both laugh. “I really am happy for you,” Harry adds.

“Did you come all the way from California just to tell me that?”

“Yes,” Harry nods. “I needed to. You deserve to hear it. And all of this,” Harry motions to The Lake Isle. “You deserve all of this.”

Liam wraps Harry in a hug, and it finally feels like the right kind of intimacy between them. He clears his throat and nods toward the pub door. “Would you like a tour?” he asks.

“I’d like that very much.”

Liam wipes his eyes as subtly as possible while he holds the door open for Harry, and they go in to find Louis together.

 

It’s obvious that Niall, Zayn, and Harry get along straight away, and Liam smiles to himself, thinking that The Lake Isle could be home to more than just him and Louis.

At the end of the night, when Liam’s parents have said goodnight, and Louis’ sisters have all gone back to their hotel, it’s just the five of them together. Harry and Zayn are sat on top of the bar watching Niall demonstrate how to juggle with limes. Liam and Louis sit side-by-side at a table in the corner watching the three of them. Niall is up to four limes, and Liam reckons Niall will drop them soon, but Louis shakes his head. “Never bet against Niall.”

After a bit, Louis climbs into Liam’s lap and grins at him. “It was difficult, you know,” he whispers. “Being pretend married to you. I couldn’t have you looking at me like we really were together. I couldn’t have you kissing me like that.” He taps Liam on the lips for emphasis. “But now it’s real. And it’s not difficult in that way, but it is a little bit scary.”

Liam looks into Louis’ face, and he has to agree that it is scary. It’s scary and overwhelming how quickly and irrevocably they had fallen into each other, how much he cares about Louis, and how badly he wants everything to be a success.

Liam smiles and presses it against Louis’ mouth in a quick kiss. “We don’t need to be scared of anything now.” He says it for himself as much as for Louis. “We have our own Lake Isle.”

Louis smiles, buries his face in Liam’s neck, and they wrap their arms around each other. One of the other three snap a photograph of them, and it’s the picture of how Liam and Louis live in Dublin: fallen completely into each other, and remaking the old city into something just for themselves.

**Author's Note:**

> Please check out the full text of [The Lake Isle of Innisfree](http://www.poetryfoundation.org/poem/172053) if you have the time.
> 
> Zayn quotes from [Aedh Wishes for the Cloths of Heaven](http://www.bartleby.com/146/36.html) at the beginning of the fic, and it's basically the essence of Louis' proposal to Liam.
> 
> The title for this fic is ripped from two different poems. I corrupted a couple of lines and smashed them together to form one title. The poems are: [Meeting](http://allpoetry.com/poem/8452923-Meeting-by-William_Butler_Yeats) and [To Ireland in the Coming Times](http://www.poetry-archive.com/y/to_ireland_in_the_coming_times.html).
> 
> Thank you for putting up with all of this! xx


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